


The Clear Sky

by yeaka



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angry Sex, Blow Jobs, Bondage, Crossdressing Kink, Dom/sub, Dominance, Hand Jobs, M/M, Oral Sex, Romance, Star Trek: Into Darkness Spoilers, Submission, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-01
Updated: 2013-07-10
Packaged: 2017-12-16 18:26:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 22,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/865182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Khan meets Pavel before his plans, and that only complicates things a little for their respective dreams.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. *

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jaleesa](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Jaleesa).



> A/N: Happy almost Birthday, Jaleesa! :D ♥ I'll get to what you wanted eventually, hopefully. Special thanks to Barbayat for the help plotting. A plethora of the usual warnings/tags to come later. ;P
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Star Trek or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

It wasn’t particularly difficult to make a portable transport device. It’s no bigger than a tricorder, though at that size, it can’t take him off the planet. That’ll do. He has work in London and plans in San Francisco, and he goes where the best views of information lie. Admiral Marcus isn’t any harder to keep an eye on, especially with Khan’s apartment overlooking Starfleet Headquarters. Khan usually beams to their grounds and walks over to his building; it’ll make him harder to track.

Not that anyone’s caught on, but there’s no harm in precautions. Sometimes he even stops for coffee—he can’t stand the way Synthesizers have taken over. People nowadays say they can’t tell the difference, but Khan can. The people in his time would’ve laughed at the dusty, flat atoms rearranged into _every_ meal. When Khan’s plan is in action and he needs to, he’ll settle for whatever rations are the most efficient. For now, while everything is golden, he deserves the best. It’s an almost sickeningly sunny day, and there’s a coffee shop just across the street.

Khan puts one foot on the pavement, the other still lingering on Starfleet grass, when something barrels into him from the side. He grunts at the impact but is too sturdy to fall. The thing that hit him topples to the ground, and a PADD goes flying, skittering to the side, screen cracked but facing up. It’s stuck on an image of starship blueprints, Constitution-class. Khan’s eyes flicker over it—the Enterprise, the Starfleet flagship. He’s certain of it.

The culprit is secondary: a boy who couldn’t be over twenty, on all fours at Khan’s feet. He’s in the grey uniform of a landed officer, lithe back arched as he pushes up to his knees, inspecting his bruised hands. He has light brown, curled hair, and wide hazel eyes that turn up to Khan, eyebrows knitting together. With blushing cheeks, the boy says in a thick Russian accent, “Sorry, sorry! Ah, I was not looking where I was going, it was all my fault. I am wery sorry...”

Khan lifts an eyebrow. It was, of course, the boy’s fault, and normally, Khan would continue briskly on as though nothing happened.

Today, he bends to pick up the PADD, straightening slowly, staring at it as though he’s just now realizing what’s on it. “The Enterprise?” he asks coolly.

“Yes, I work on it. Ah, not now, obwiously, she’s docked...” he trails off, looking embarrassed. That... could come in handy. Very handy.

Khan has a plan for obtaining a starship when the time comes, of course, but there’s no harm securing other avenues. Possibilities are instantly in his mind, encouraged by the minor side note that this boy isn’t exactly hard on the eyes. There’s something in Khan that wants to drag this out, and mostly because of the contents of the PADD, he allows it.

He offers his hand. He doesn’t need to turn on any charm; he just lets his voice roll right off his tongue, and he can instantly see the honey seeping into his fly’s head. “Commander John Harrison.” 

The boy takes the hand, looking unsure if he’s supposed to shake it or not. Khan uses the grip to pull the boy up to his feet, and that boy mumbles, “Zhank you. ...Ensign Pavel Chekov.”

“Chekov,” Khan repeats, saving the first name for if he might want to escalate intimacy in the future. Pavel blushes at his surname alone. He’s a small thing next to Khan, thin and pretty, but then, Khan towers over most men. Letting the corner of his mouth quirk up in a grin, Khan comments lightly, “You look awfully young to be stationed on the Federation’s flagship.”

Pavel bites his lip, smiling instantly from ear to ear. He looks sheepish but eager, and he practically gushes, “I am only an ensign, but yes, I am wery lucky. Oh, but I am legally old enough—eighteen. It was wery hard to get where I am, but, ah...” he trails off again. Khan raises an eyebrow; Pavel must have quite the mind to reach the Enterprise at eighteen. That, or he must be promiscuous and particularly talented and slept with all the right admirals. Either way, it’s good potential for later use. This is turning out to be a very interesting catch. Pavel asks, “Where do you work, Commander?”

“London,” Khan says bluntly. That’s not something Pavel needs to know. “What do you do on the Enterprise?”

“I am zhe nawigator.”

Khan arches another eyebrow. A bridge officer. And one on the helm, dealing with star charts. Useful indeed. Judging from the way he’s been looking at Khan since their eyes first met, he won’t be very difficult to get use out of. If Khan wanted, he could probably have Pavel in his apartment, naked in his bed in under half an hour. 

But if Khan fucked everybody he _could_ fuck, he’d never get anything done. So he simply files Pavel’s information away in his head for the future, should he find himself bored or requiring starship intelligence. Finding Pavel again shouldn’t be difficult. Not for someone like Khan, anyway.

For now, he sticks his hand out again, establishing contact. Pavel looks a little put out as he lifts his hand, but he does, and Khan takes it. One brisk shake, and his grip lingers as he purrs, “Well... Ensign. I’ll be in the city for a few days, and if I need help navigating, perhaps I’ll look you up.” He doesn’t actually have plans to go anywhere, but this just makes for an easier pretense.

Lighting up, Pavel nods. “Yes, please do.”

Khan finally hands over the PADD. Pavel starts, as though he’s forgotten it. He takes it in both hands.

Khan walks past him and down the street, coattails lifting in the breeze.


	2. *

Fitting the cryotubes into the hollowed out torpedoes isn’t going to be that difficult in and of itself—it’s more the security that’s going to be a pain. Then, of course, the smuggling them onto a starship. Torpedoes will be easier to smuggle though, provided Marcus doesn’t end up simply adding them to the Nightmare-class ship being built and man Khan on a high enough console. It's always frustrating when there’re cogs Khan can’t control. Khan’s skimming the records of the medical team assigned to watch his crew when a Lieutenant strolls up to him, flicking her long, blond hair over her shoulder.

“Done for the day, Commander?” she asks, probably because, technically, their shift’s just ended. She perches her large ass on the corner of his desk, painted nails gripping the rim.

Khan ignores her and locks his console, shutting it down for the day. Her uniform’s unbuttoned at the top, and, undeterred, she asks, “Would you like to maybe get drinks som—”

“Good day,” he drawls, sweeping past her. She’s an idiot, made clear by the asymmetry of the paintjob on her nails and her generic request, coupled with her complete inability to read his obvious disinterest. Khan doesn’t have time for idiots, even in the context of a simple fuck. Khan doesn’t settle.

He gets several strides out the building, turns a corner and reaches for the transporter at his hip, beaming himself back to San Francisco. He finds himself in a light drizzle, and he does up the front of his long black jacket, turning up the collar. Then it’s off across the damp grass, to the street on the other side, cars whizzing through the air and making puddles jitter. Khan gets to the corner and crosses, over to the coffee shop.

The plans are on their way, but progress is slow. Things are difficult, and Marcus is always on him. He needs something to expel his energy on; he might go to the gym and break a few more machines after he downs a fair amount of coffee. Something to relax, then something to strengthen. If Marcus looks into his days, records will show a regular Commander going out for regular drinks, nothing suspicious. The store’s bell rings as he steps inside, trailing drips of water with him. His dark hair is slicked around his right eye, and he flicks it back.

He trails over to the counter, taking note of the other customers through his peripherals. It’s just a few people here and there—an old couple on one side and a young girl on another. He smirks as he notices the Russian in the far corner, sitting against the wall and looking out the window. This is one of those rustic places—old, rickety wire chairs and plush seats against the back, small, round, brown checker-board tables and hanging, yellow lights. Khan opts for iced black coffee and purposely requests whipped cream on top. He takes a straw and heads for the corner, slipping casually into the empty chair across Pavel’s table.

Pavel starts immediately, as though he didn’t see Khan coming. Perhaps he didn’t. The rain’s painting shallow waves against the window, softly pitter-pattering. The light through the water droplets washes attractively over Pavel’s face. No uniform today; he’s in a white shirt, a grey, formal jacket with three-quarter-length sleeves, and pressed, tan pants.

Khan’s in the usual all black and long trench, and he’s acutely aware of how much older he is than Pavel, especially counting the extra three hundred years. It makes him feel vaguely predatory, and that makes the chase all that much more enjoyable. Everything’s been too _by-the-book_ lately, too pure and simple. He stirs his coffee absently, frowning at the foam, and greets, “Ensign.”

“Commander,” Pavel says happily, fingers tight around his red drink—probably something strawberry, topped in half-eaten foam and chocolate sauce. “It’s good to see you.”

Khan nods. “Not so good about this rain. ...Or the foam...” Khan lifts up a chunk of whipped cream on his straw, looking at it disdainfully. He makes it sound as though he could even remotely care about the weather or a drink. Fortunately, feigning interest isn’t something Khan has to do when it comes to the rest of this scenario.

Pavel’s utterly adorable as he mirrors the frown. “Zhey gawe you cream zhat you didn’t want?”

“Sadly, yes,” Khan sighs. He lets his eyes flicker obviously over to Pavel’s drink, and he comments lightly, “I suppose you like it...?”

Pavel’s cheeks dust a tiny bit pink. He smiles and nods. “It is my fawourite part of zhe drink.” _Perfect_.

Khan holds his straw up, over and mouth level, borderline purring, “Have it.”

It might be a bit soon for orders. But orders are Khan’s main method of communication, and even when his rank doesn’t dictate his leadership, his good looks and powerful presence tend to sell it. Pavel’s cheeks colour the rest of the way, but the way he licks his lips suggests he’d very much like to.

He leans across the table and parts his lips wide, sliding over the end of Khan’s straw. Then he closes slowly around it, and Khan can see his tongue moving against his cheek, scooping it all off. He audibly swallows, savouring it. A bit of white cream clings to his lips on the outside, and as he pulls off, his tongue slips out to lap that up. 

He’s blushing furiously. But he says, “Delicious. Zhank you.”

Smiling indulgently, Khan takes another scoop and holds it out again, purring, “Would you like the rest, Chekov?”

Nodding slowly, as though he’s worried he’ll appear too eager, Pavel says, “Yes, please, Commander.”

“You can call me John, if you like.”

Pavel bites his lower lip. He repeats, “Yes, please, _John,_ ” looking nearly giddy. Khan has to hold back his smirk. The folly of youth. This is entirely too easy.

He holds his straw steady in the air while Pavel licks it clean, and then he gets a third scoop and lets it happen again. It makes it very easy to picture those puckered lips around something else. On the fourth scoop, he decides it’d be best to save his rapidly growing erection until they leave the shop, which requires handing the straw over and letting Pavel do it himself. Pavel winces cutely every time he gets a little too close to the bitter ice beneath, but he clearly enjoys the cream on top. He keeps having to lick it off his lips, and while he does, Khan asks him little things—where he lives, how long the Enterprise will be docking, where he grew up. Khan answers similar questions vaguely and shortly, portending of mystery and importance. Pavel seems to be going deliberately slowly on finishing Khan’s cream, but he does eventually, sliding it back across the table.

Khan lets Pavel keep the straw and lifts the cup to his lips. Pavel’s subconsciously playing with the green plastic, wrapping his tongue around it and pistoning it lightly in and out of his mouth. More thinly veiled foreplay for Khan to swallow. The sky’s a little dark outside, made darker with the rain.

Khan’s already made up his mind.

He needs to ease out his tension, and Pavel will do nicely. He switches the conversation away from the idle suppositions on what a deep-space mission would entail and to, “You’re off duty today.”

“Yes, yes,” Pavel nods.

“Free, then.”

Grinning, Pavel repeats, “Yes.” And he takes another sip of his red drink through Khan’s straw. Khan wonders vaguely if he’s actually forgotten who it belongs to or if he’s holding on to it on purpose. Khan’s nearly finished his coffee, and he swirls the dregs around the bottom of his cup while he decides on how best to do this.

A final compliment, perhaps. “Your knowledge of known deep-space star charts is exemplary.”

“Zhank you.” Grinning like a star, Pavel says, “Your knowledge of ewery’hing is exemplary—I’we newer met a man so brilliant wizh engineering and tactical operations all at once.”

Khan merely smiles. He’s superior in every conceivable way, and it’s good to have someone appreciate every one of those aspects, not just his striking features and bristling sureness. Khan drains his cup and offers, “Speaking of such, I have some rather interesting specifications on Starfleet’s latest starship model. I could use a second opinion on my work—perhaps you’d be willing to do me that favour...?” Khan doesn’t need a second opinion on anything. And he certainly wouldn’t show any of his real work. But he needs an excuse to get this ball of sunshine in his bed, and he’s not sure if Pavel’s keener for those specifications or to be alone with him. He’s nodding instantly, and Khan’s standing before a response can come.

He doesn’t leave any room for refusal. He takes both of their cups in one hand, fingers maneuvering expertly to manage so his other hand is free, left out for Pavel. Pavel slips out of his seat, and Khan scoops him up by the waist. The cups are left on the counter, and Pavel mumbles, “Oh, I didn’t hawe an umbrella...”

“I’m sure two trained officers such as ourselves can handle a little rain,” Khan chuckles. It’s let up a bit by the time they get outside anyway. Khan’s apartment is just across the street, but he walks deliberately slowly to get Pavel as wet as possible. He spends the time there asking, “Do you have family in San Francisco?”

“Ah... no. I... ran away to join Starfleet when I was wery young...”

“You are very young,” Khan notes with another chuckle, and he files away the information that Pavel doesn’t have anyone waiting at home. No one to notice if he goes missing for a few days. He obviously doesn’t have a significant other, or he wouldn’t be so enthusiastic to fall into Khan’s lap. While his mind is clearly sharp as a tack, Khan isn’t at all convinced Pavel’s capable of deception, especially not at the level it would take to fool Khan. As they enter the lobby doors of his building and cross the shining grey tiles, Khan makes a tsking sound. “Oh dear, you have gotten quite wet...”

Pavel’s curls are glistening with little beads of water, but it’s not enough for his clothes to be clinging like Khan would like them to be. They step into the turbolift, and Khan says, “Twenty-seven,” to the computer.

Pavel shrugs. “It’s nozhing to an officer, like you said, I suppose.”

Khan smirks. The elevator takes them straight up, and Khan takes them down the hall, and he punches the code into his door. His apartment isn’t exactly ostentatious. It’s made for survival; it’s simply a place for him to exist while he builds the life he wants. It’s got just enough decorations and useless knickknacks to pass himself off as any other human—to satisfy Marcus’ watchful eye—as though he’s perfectly content making his current commission and occupying a mid-sized place in a popular city. Pavel takes it all in as Khan sweeps him inside, eyeing the grey walls and the tile floors.

Khan slips his hands onto Pavel’s shoulders from behind, earning a surprised intake of breath, and he leans down to Pavel’s ear. In just his usual, deep voice, he asks, “May I take your coat, Chekov?”

“Yes, sir,” Pavel breathes, establishing Khan’s dominance for him. He notes the change in address. He peels Pavel’s jacket off, and Pavel goes limp and lets him.

Khan clips it to a hanger on the wall, adding his own jacket, both a little damp. They both kick off their shoes. Pavel’s back has the perfect curve to it, and his ass...

Khan doesn’t have enough room to stare at it properly, but it definitely makes one thing clear; this was a good idea. He steps up beside Pavel and sweeps his arm around those smaller shoulders, taking Pavel past the kitchenette and to the living room. It’s got a door to his bedroom, a couch, a large screen against the opposite wall, and a bleak painting of some Andorian mountains above the couch. A glass coffee table sits in the middle, holding two thoroughly-secure PADDs.

He pushes Pavel lightly towards the couch and asks, “Would you like something to drink?”

Sitting down, looking particularly pale and light against the dark blue fabric, Pavel says, “No, zhank you.”

Khan strolls back to the front hall anyway, just to make Pavel wait. He grabs himself a glass of water. He’s checking Pavel’s obedience. Pavel passes, of course, and he’s sitting right where he was left when Khan comes back. One of the PADDs has moved a centimeter to the left. But Pavel couldn’t have gotten anything from it, and Khan doesn’t leave anything important out like that anyway. He walks around to sit on Pavel’s other side. The couch dips down where Khan sits, and he throws his arm over the back, encasing Pavel’s smaller frame. Leaning closer so that their shoulders and legs are touching, Khan purrs, “Do you really want to see those starship schematics? Or perhaps you’d like something more... interesting, _Pavel_...”

Pavel bites his lip at his own name, pupils already a little dilated. His lashes lower a fraction of a centimeter, and the rain has slicked a few curls down across his forehead. He’s absolutely adorable and helplessly caught in Khan’s web. He mumbles thickly, “Somezhing... somezhing more interesting...” His palms are nervously brushing his thighs.

Khan hooks a finger under Pavel’s chin, tilting it up. They both knew this was coming from the first time they met, or at least, this is where Pavel was clearly hoping it would go. He parts his lips and lowers his lashes, leaning up and ready. Khan tends to have that effect on people, but it’s rare that anyone’s able to hold his interest in return.

He leans in and presses his lips into Pavel’s, immediately pleased with how soft they are. Pavel’s warm. Small and malleable in his arms. Khan runs his tongue along Pavel’s bottom lip until it’s moist and full, and Pavel opens obediently when Khan seeks entrance, pushing his tongue slowly inside. Pavel’s tongue is smaller and sweeter, and it brushes at Khan’s with a sort of restrained, timid excitement. Khan traces the insides of Pavel’s mouth, the walls and the roof and the perfect teeth. He doesn’t pull back so much as open and close, claiming Pavel for as long as possible.

Pavel kisses back so happily, sultry and wanting. Khan slips the hand at Pavel’s chin down his throat, across his thin t-shirt and down to his belt, lightly stroking his belly. He shivers in delight, and Khan shifts the other hand around Pavel’s shoulders to Pavel’s head, raking through his damp hair, subtly holding him in place. Pavel’s an excellent kisser. He clearly lacks experience, but he follows all of Khan’s leads flawlessly, and he’s more than eager. Khan’s hand reaches Pavel’s inner thigh, and he squeezes lightly, earning a sudden moan. Khan’s thumb is brushing Pavel’s crotch, tenting quickly. It would be so easy to touch...

But instead, he finds one of Pavel’s hands, running his own fingers over it without parting their lips for a second. He travels up to hold Pavel’s wrist, and he gently shifts Pavel’s hand over to his own lap. He needs to set the right precedent. His pleasure comes first. He brought Pavel here to please him, and Pavel makes a high-pitched groaning noise when his palm is pressed against Khan’s crotch. Khan doesn’t even have to give the order—Pavel starts cupping him instantly, squeezing gently and rubbing. Khan’s dick fills quickly under the ministrations, and Pavel keeps massaging it while Khan keeps fucking Pavel’s mouth with his tongue.

As though he actually cares about Pavel’s interest, Khan parts theirs lips to check. Pavel whimpers and tries to follow him, but Khan makes a fist in his hair and pulls him back, making him cringe beautifully. Low and quiet, Khan hisses, “I don’t want to make you do anything you’re not comfortable with, Pavel...”

Pavel shakes his head, runs his tongue along his kiss-swollen lips, and pleads, “I want _more_ , John...”

Trying to keep his smirk tender rather than lecherous like he feels, Khan undoes his belt with one hand, brings down his fly, and takes Pavel’s wrist again, guiding it into his pants. Pavel’s lashes flutter against his cheek as his fingertips slide through the dark hair beneath Khan’s stomach. Khan lets go; Pavel gets the idea.

Pavel opens his mouth hopefully, and Khan benevolently leans back in. He kisses Pavel hard while those delicate fingers trace up and down his cock, wrapping dry and raw around it. Then Pavel full-body shudders, like he’s the one about to get a hand-job from a sweet young thing off the street.

He gets the privilege of touching Khan’s cock, and the way he arches and moans in Khan’s grasp shows that he understands exactly how lucky that makes him.

It’s not exactly the best angle, and Khan doesn’t take his cock out. But Pavel manages more than well enough, and Khan’s rock hard in no time. He kisses harder, leaning in stronger, not enough to break Pavel but enough to expel energy. He has too much control to grind into Pavel’s hand, but he does run his own up Pavel’s body and under Pavel’s shirt. Pavel’s smooth all over, warm and ripe for the taking. He slips his other hand into Khan’s pants of his own accord, squeezing and stroking and kissing back, happily worshipping his new commander. If Khan hadn’t decided before, he definitely has now; Pavel’s going to be a repeat pleasure.

Which means Khan can’t go too fast, and he resists yanking Pavel’s pretty face away to shove it onto his cock. That will definitely have to come later, though. A mouth like this can’t go to waste. Pavel’s a fast learner, and his tongue moves slickly and just like it’s supposed to. Pavel’s fingers are bringing Khan to the edge, closer and closer. Khan has stamina to rival a Vulcan. But it’s been a while and he’s pent up, and Pavel fits so nicely against him, and Pavel’s zeal is catching. Khan’s mind inevitably drifts to all the other things he’ll inevitably do to his latest catch. After all the hassle and stress of the week, Khan lets himself get lost in the ecstasy of raw _sex_ , until it’s all exactly enough. He comes in Pavel’s hand with a fierce growl down Pavel’s throat, and Pavel moans and takes it.

Pavel doesn’t pull his hand out immediately. Pavel doesn’t seem to want to stop kissing when Khan pulls back. But he has to, because Khan makes him.

The beep of a communicator rings out, and Pavel’s cheeks go from pink to red. He practically cries, “Sorry, sorry,” and dives his hand into his back pocket.

But he looks at Khan apologetically and pleadingly before opening the communicator he pulls out, and Khan nods in amusement. Pavel mumbles, “Zhank you, I am so sorry,” and flips it open. “Hello?”

 _“Hey there, laddie! I got an interestin’ set o’ specks for you to look at over here.”_ It’s some man with a Scottish accent even thicker than Pavel’s. Khan doesn’t miss the way Pavel’s eyes light up. But then he looks at Khan again, utterly torn.

“Ah, sorry, Meester Scott, could I perhaps call you back in a moment?”

 _“Alright,”_ the man—Mr. Scott, apparently—says with a little bit of skepticism. It’s obvious from both their reactions that Pavel’s never turned him down before. _“But don’ be too long—she’s not gonna wait forever.”_ And the transmission ends with a telltale beep.

“She?” Khan asks, lifting an eyebrow and zipping his pants back up. Pavel’s hands are sticky, and he seems to realize this belatedly, suddenly dropping the communicator. Then he blushes and hurriedly picks it back up again, dropping it in his lap.

“Ah, zhe Enterprise,” Pavel explains. “Meester Scott is zhe chief engineer, and he has been wery kind about teaching me some aspects of Engineering...”

Khan allows himself to look impressed. He was going to kick Pavel out once he was done anyway, and as much as he’d like to use a few other parts of Pavel’s body, he knows that that might not be best for a long-term arrangement. Besides, he has business to attend to. So he says, “That sounds important. You should probably go see what he has.”

“Oh, but I don’t want to be rude,” Pavel says, looking like what he means is that he doesn’t want to leave Khan’s side.

Khan smiles and pats his knee, purposely staying far away from Pavel’s slightly deflating crotch. Apparently this Mr. Scott isn’t any competition. Khan’s arm is back around the couch. He uses his other to take Pavel’s communicator away, turning it around to examine the make and model, as though determining exactly how to contact Pavel later. He already could’ve. He explains, “It’s alright, we’ll do a raincheck. After all, I never did show you those schematics.”

“Ah, I would lowe to hawe a look at zhem.”

Standing up and offering his hand, Khan says, “I know.” He pulls Pavel up and pecks Pavel’s cheek, and then he’s ushering Pavel to the door. After everything, it’s been a good day. 

He watches when Pavel leaves down the hallway. He was right; that’s a _very_ nice ass.


	3. *

It’s precisely two minutes past his shift when Khan’s personal communicator goes off, and at first all he does is lift an eyebrow. Marcus is, supposedly, in an admiral’s meeting. That leaves literally no one else with his locked communicator’s code. He pulls it out of his coat pocket and simply stares at it for a moment.

Then he assumes the meeting must have ended early, and he leaves his locked-down desk, strolling for the doors and flipping the communicator open. “Hello?”

 _“Hello,”_ a soft, hesitant voice says on the other side. Khan stops in place, not quite at the spot he usually beams from.

“Pavel.” He pauses, then asks, genuinely curious, “How did you get my code?”

 _“Ah,”_ Pavel breathes on the other side, all apologies and nerves. _“I am wery sorry about zhat, I should not hawe.... When I was at your apartment zhe ozher day, I had a look at your PADD...”_

“It was locked,” Khan interrupts, the smirk already twisting his lips. This kid is... very impressive.

_“I know, I know, I should not hawe broken it—I don’t know what came ower me! I was just curious, and I zhought maybe zhey were zhe schematics you were going to show me, alzhough I realize zhat was wery presumptuous of me—”_

“It’s alright,” Khan soothes. “You’ll just have to make it up to me, and the next time you’re at my place you’ll have to work a little harder to win back my trust.”

All Pavel asks is, _“...Next time?”_

Normally, Khan calls his men. Anyone he’s going to use is used on his terms and his time, not the other way around. But a non-augment accessing his personal information off a locked PADD in such a short amount of time... even if it is something as surface and inconsequential as his communicator code... it’s certainly noteworthy. Khan quickly runs through the rest of the PADD in his head, but there was nothing else important on it. The handy thing about the Federation is that most things are publicly accessible. Anything pertaining to Section 31 garners special treatment, of course, but Khan isn’t stupid enough to leave any vital information sitting on a coffee table, locked or otherwise.

He makes note of his internal clock and asks, “Where are you?”

_“Zenilia’s Books. It is down zhe street from zhe—”_

Khan knows exactly where that is, just like he knows where everything is in his city. He says, “There’s an Italian restaurant across the street and to the right. Do you see it?”

There’s a pause and then a buoyant, _“Yes.”_

“I’ll be there in five minutes.”

Pavel chirps, _“Good.”_

Khan raises an eyebrow and closes his communicator, re-pocketing it. He walks the rest of the way around the side of the building and beams over to the usual coordinates, striding straight across the grass.

It’s a hot, clear day, and Khan weaves through the streets with precise measure, at the restaurant in under four minutes. It’s not a particularly fancy place, but it’s nice enough. There aren’t reservations. It’s got low lights and a warm atmosphere: lots of reds and browns. He crosses the carpet and finds Pavel reading a menu at a small table. He looks up the second Khan’s in front of him.

“John—”

“Get up.” Khan grins lazily to soften the order, and Pavel gets out of his chair with total trust on his face, dropping the menu. Taking Pavel’s wrist, Khan leads him to the back.

Originally, Khan was going to buy him dinner. Khan can afford to buy his toys properly. But that was before the four minutes he spent mulling over Pavel’s talents and the other three seconds he spent eyeing Pavel’s pretty face. Khan’s stomach isn’t particularly hungry. Not for food, anyway.

Khan takes Pavel into the men’s washroom at the back, empty with sinks on one side and stalls on the other. It’s got chalkboard walls and shiny floors, and Khan purrs, leaning in for a kiss, “Are you hungry, Pavel?”

“No,” Pavel says, and he leans up for another kiss in-between his words too. “Perhaps after...?”

“After?” Khan knows exactly what his little ensign is suggesting, but he wants to hear it. Pavel just blushes.

He coughs and changes the subject to, “How was work?”

“Adequate. How was your day? Any news on the Enterprise?” Small talk to justify the hands running down Pavel’s sides. An orange sweater and jeans today.

Here Pavel’s hazel eyes darken slightly. “We’re leawing tomorrow—just a short mission...” But. He leaves the word off, but it’s clear on his face. He doesn’t want to leave.

Khan fights his frown. He’ll be without his new pet. Though, the lack of distraction might be a positive thing for his work. Still, he says, “It’s alright. I’ll be here when you get back.” And he kisses Pavel’s parting lips, getting an armful of electric ensign back, feverish to melt into him. Pavel’s arms dart under Khan’s arms, holding tight to Khan’s back. It’s like he wants to speed time up, to get everything they would’ve had in the next few days all out _now_.

No wonder he swiped that code. Little minx. Khan catches himself grinning too fondly against Pavel’s mouth, and he pushes Pavel’s shoulder lightly to make him step back. He does, looking disappointed.

He stays while Khan walks back to the door, easily bypassing the normal closing mechanism and locking it shut. Another one of the many uses of hyper-intelligence. When he turns around, Pavel’s smiling very, very wide.

Khan sheds his coat as he comes closer, tossing it onto the sink. He stops just short of Pavel and hisses, “Take off your sweater.” Blushing hotly but ever obedient, Pavel does. He throws it right on top of Khan’s coat. He looks up with big, bright eyes that practically scream, ‘ _take me._ ’

In the interest of not scaring his catch, Khan bottles his growl. He takes a step around and walks Pavel into the sink, and then he grabs Pavel’s hips and picks him right up, depositing him on the counter, spread open and at the perfect height. His legs wrap around Khan’s body, pulling Khan in closer, and his palms run up Khan’s chest, feeling his pecs through his shirt. They’ll have to do this again sometime, properly and in bed, lazy and naked.

For now, Khan doesn’t see the point in waiting. He’s got his fingers in the hem of Pavel’s pants, and he kisses his way down the side of Pavel’s face, reaching his ear and purring, “Do you want to feel me inside you before you leave?”

Pavel’s eyes nearly roll back in his head, fingers curling in Khan’s shirt. He looks awash with pleasure already, and he moans, “Yes, yes please...” So polite and proper, yet so debauched and naughty.... He wraps his arms around Khan’s neck while Khan slowly tugs down his pants, over his warm thighs, still trapping his cock, but enough to expose his ass. Khan has to take half a step back and push Pavel’s knees up to see it properly—pink and flushed and round. Khan grabs two chunks and tugs Pavel right to the very edge of the sink, just short of falling off. His tight balls are just visible beneath his underwear, small and hairless. Khan puts his hand right in the middle, fingers pressed into Pavel’s crack. Pavel throws his head back, thin neck exposed.

Khan takes that as an invitation. He runs his teeth straight down Pavel’s chin to his collarbone, while his middle finger finds Pavel’s hole and rubs at it. Out the corner of his eye he sees an old-style soap dispenser, mostly for show to fit the vaguely-retro-themed restaurant. Pre-sonic-cleaning technology is still Khan’s preferred method, and this is his proof of its usefulness. He pulls his hand away from Pavel’s ripe ass and uses his thumb to pump some goopy, pink soap into his hand, and then he’s back to circling Pavel’s hole, getting it nice and wet. Pavel melts in his hands, keening and desperate and trying for kisses.

It occurs to Khan that Pavel couldn’t have done this very often. He’s too responsive, too perfect, too young and clumsy with his wandering-but-now-trembling hands. Khan keeps his mouth busy while two fingers trace his puckered hole, and when one’s in position to breach, Khan pulls his lips just far enough back to ask deep and low, “How many times have you had sex, Pavel?”

Pavel turns a brilliant shade of red and looks uncomfortable. It’s strange to think that this boy could be so loose for him and so inexperienced out there. Pavel mumbles, “Just... just once.” He doesn’t say any more, and Khan doesn’t ask.

Because the minute he’s had Pavel, Pavel won’t be able to want or remember anyone else. He kisses Pavel when he pops his fingertip inside: the illusion of care.

Pavel squeaks and wriggles as Khan’s finger slips further in, careful but firm. He pistons in and out, a bit further each time, swallowing all of Pavel’s little sounds and reading all the body language. He’s hurt his toys before, of course, but Pavel isn’t going to be like that. Pavel could have more uses than just sex, even though Khan’s sure the sex would justify his capture alone. Khan even bothers to warn between kisses, “I’m going to put another finger in.” And Pavel nods, and he does.

Stretching Pavel is a torturous affair. He’s tight, very tight, and the soap isn’t a perfect lube, and Khan’s patience wears thin quickly. Having a panting, writhing Pavel in his arms is almost as alluring as a naked one—they haven’t even started yet and Pavel’s _so_ responsive. By the time Khan’s opening him with a third finger, Pavel’s begging, “Oh, please, please, John, just do it, just take me...” And he nuzzles into Khan’s neck, his fingers all over Khan’s back. For the first time, it’s almost irritating to hear the wrong name on those pretty lips.

But Khan does what he has to first and what he wants second. Fortunately, he has a way of making the two eventually combine. He’s still fingering Pavel’s hole while he growls softly, “Take out my cock, Pavel.”

Pavel _moans_ deliciously, fingers on his belt in a flash. They waste no time in grabbing Khan’s dick and pulling it out, stroking it like before and staring at it, and Pavel licks his lips and whines, “You are _so_ big—will you even fit?”

“If you’re good and relax for me,” Khan chuckles. He kisses Pavel’s cheek and presses his hips closer, reaching down to bat Pavel’s hands away and pull his fingers out. Pavel whimpers at the loss, but then he’s keening again as Khan’s spongy head rubs into his stretched, dripping hole. Khan hisses, “Hold on tight.”

Pavel lunges at him in a fierce embrace, just as Khan slams inside. Pavel’s head instantly snaps back, mouth open and eyes closer, voice breaking with the force of his cry. Khan holds his head with one hand and his waist with the other, bucking in further. He’s only got half inside, and he has to really press and piston his way in further because it’s that tight. Pavel whines and groans on each movement. He’s incredibly, insanely firm, tighter than anyone Khan’s ever had before. He’s hot and he’s wet, and his walls keep trying to close in, shuddering and swallowing Khan’s cock, pulling more and more in, until Khan’s balls deep and overrun with pleasure. It’s only made better by the soft whimpers pressed into his neck, the light curls tickling his ear, and the dull heels of Pavel’s shoes digging into the small of his back. Pavel’s thighs cling to Khan like he never wants to let go.

Khan gives Pavel that minute to adjust. It’s half just to get their breathing in check. Then he slides out as far as he can manage, and then he pounds back in, gripping Pavel’s ass hard to hold it still. Pavel’s wearing too many clothes, but his ass is free to play with. He clings to Khan for dear life and hangs on while Khan works up to something stronger: faster and harder. He goes and he goes, pounding Pavel into the counter and growling like an animal, and he makes a fist in Pavel’s curls and jerks him back for more kisses. Pavel’s tongue is alive in seconds, fighting right back.

Fuck, Pavel’s _good._ He bounces on Khan’s cock like he loves it, and his whole body’s wracked with every thrust. He moans deliciously, and when Khan knows he has the right angle, he’s relentless. He wants Pavel melting in his arms, exploding in pleasure. He doesn’t bother to touch Pavel’s cock—he doesn’t have to. Pavel doesn’t even try to. He’s too busy touching Khan, everywhere and as much as possible. They kiss and they kiss and Khan could go on like this forever...

But Pavel’s young, and even without any stimulation to his cock, he can’t hold on. He screams into Khan’s mouth and comes, still half in his pants, arching up and ass clenching perfectly around Khan’s cock. The shocks of the aftermath spasm around him, tight walls sucking harder and hips jerking out of control. It’s too much for Khan not to follow, and a few thrusts later, he’s digging his nails into Pavel’s hip. He empties himself inside Pavel with a feral snarl, filling Pavel up and claiming him. Pavel’s his beyond repair.

Pavel clearly doesn’t want to stop kissing, even though his tongue’s grown lazy and languid. Khan pushes him back, breathing in heavily. He stays inside to let the last of it ride out. Pavel whimpers.

Then Khan picks Pavel up and lifts him off, depositing his feet back on the floor. Pavel’s pants slip further down his thighs. His cock pops out, going limp and already sticky. He blushes at it, but Khan just reaches down to wipe off as much cum as possible, taking it to the sink. He wipes it clean. Pavel leans against the counter, looking hazy.

“Zhat was... zhat was amazing.”

Khan smirks and tucks himself back in. “I know.” When he’s done, he helps do Pavel back up, copping a few feels. He’s going to enjoy this, knowing Pavel's full of his seed for the rest of the day. “You did well.” It’s slightly condescending, but Pavel doesn’t seem to mind.

Pavel just smiles. Khan get his coat and passes back Pavel’s sweater, and after he takes it in his arms, Pavel leans forward and buries his head in Khan’s chest. He mumbles, “I do not want to go.”

“Don’t be like that,” Khan says soothingly, sweeping Pavel up in his arm and heading for the door. “Of course you want to—you worked hard to get on that ship. This’ll just give you something to look forward to when you get back.”

“I can see you again, zhen?” He waits for Khan to unlock the door. It’s empty in the hall outside—no one must’ve tried it.

“You’ll see me again tonight—or didn’t you want to have dinner?”

Pavel’s grin splits his face.

Khan’s already decided to take him home.


	4. *

It’s another hot day, the kind that begs to be spent in bed. Work was tumultuous at best; he caught two subroutines that would’ve threatened his security, and disabling them without alerting the system was time consuming. The rest of it was dull as usual, duller with Pavel gone.

Except that Pavel’s back by now, lying at the foot of Khan’s bed, curled up on his hands and knees, like a puppy enjoying the sun. Khan’s on his back, head in the pillows, running through calculations on his PADD; he needs to override all the surveillance cameras. The solutions aren’t coming as quick as usual, and that’s probably got something to do with the wet lips wrapped around his cock, bobbing slowly up and down.

Pavel’s never sucked cock before. It took him a few tries to get the hang of it, swallowing it down without gagging, and he still can’t deep throat. Khan will teach him that eventually. Khan strokes his hair with one hand, the one that isn’t skimming schematics. Pavel blossoms under encouragement, and he makes up for his inexperience with his enthusiasm. He doesn’t need to be told what to do; he picks up on Khan’s body language and adapts. He’s got most of his weight on his elbows, ass stuck up in the air.

There’s a black toy sticking out of it—Khan’s way of keeping him stretched between rounds. Pavel graduated from vanilla to kinky rather quickly, and the way he moans around Khan’s cock suggests that he loves it. His cheeks are flushed and he’s worked up a bit of a sweat, and his whole side’s been bathed golden in the evening light through the window. His lashes are mostly lowered, but ever so often he glances up, seeming to ask if he’s still doing alright.

Khan pets him fondly and purrs, “You’re doing very well, Pavel...”

Pavel’s gratitude comes in the form of a particularly large suck, hollow cheeks and lifting tongue and everything. Khan lets his head slide back and groans, hips tempted to thrust up. He has better restraint than that. He isn’t going to hurt Pavel or buck the tiny little thing off. Pavel keeps sucking, like he’s been doing the whole time, wet and wonderful. He bobs and he sucks, and his fingers gently stroke Khan’s base and cup his balls.

The PADD is falling farther and farther behind on his list of interesting things. They’ve been like this for a while, though Pavel hasn’t complained once. He stops, sometimes, pulling off to lick up the shaft or work his lips around the head. Mostly he just stays on, grinding his hips in the air and purring like a tribble, all over Khan’s cock and beautiful.

Eventually, Khan decides that’s enough for today, and he puts the PADD aside, locking it with extra security given the minx in his bed. He leans back in the pillows and exhales deeply, sighing, “Make me come.” His fingers are brushing through curls.

Pavel takes it to heart like a challenge. He speeds up from the lazy pace, like it isn’t boiling and the perfect day to lounge. They’re both completely naked. The windows are all open. Pavel bounces his chin up and down, jaw stretched wide and probably aching by now, looking both giddy and determined. He sucks harder and harder, like Khan’s his favourite flavour. He goes and he goes, and then he pulls off and nuzzles his face into it, whining, “Ugh, you are a _monster_.” The first complaint of the day, if that’s even what it is.

Khan just chuckles. Pavel keeps rubbing into it, still licking it, just stopping to take in air. He whimpers and moans, “I wish I could take you down my zhroat...”

“In time, you will.” The sight of Pavel burrowing into the base of his dick is almost worth the loss of the tight, hot suction. He’s still grateful when Pavel descends back on it. He sucks and he licks and slides on and off, until Khan’s growling deep in his chest and spilling into Pavel’s mouth, holding Pavel down as he splutters to take it.

A deep breath, and Khan’s still holding him down. A stray string of cum trickles out the corner of Pavel’s lips, but he manages to swallow the rest, and only then does Khan let him off. Pavel sits up and wipes his cheek off on the heel of his palm, licking it away. Then he crawls up the bed and falls into the pillows next to Khan. He lies on his side and drapes one arm over Khan’s body, looking up adoringly and pleading, “My turn?” His hard cock rubs into Khan’s leg.

Khan glances at it, pink and weeping slightly. Khan reaches down to swipe the single bead of precum off with his thumb, and he brings it right up to Pavel’s lips. Pavel obediently licks it off, eyes still burning.

“I think you should touch yourself,” Khan decides. But he growls it in his gruff, sensual way that’ll soften the blow. Pavel bites his lip, like he wants Khan’s body, but he can’t resist Khan’s voice.

He takes hold of himself anyway and asks, “Will you talk me zhrough it? I lowe your voice...” Just like Khan thought.

Khan nods. Pavel lights up and rolls fully over, head resting on Khan’s shoulder, body touching all over, one leg over his. Pavel’s cock feels heavy against Khan’s hip, fingers around it. When Khan pulls Pavel’s shoulder closer, he gets a good look at the black tip of the dildo still protruding out Pavel’s rosy ass.

Pavel must notice the gaze, but he doesn’t say anything. He probably likes it. Khan raises an eyebrow and drawls, “Surely you don’t need me to tell you how to get started.”

Clearly not, but Pavel still croons, “Tell me how to get started.”

Smirking and playing the game, Khan leans into his head and hisses, “Put your pretty fingers around your pretty cock and pump it, up and down like a good boy.”

Pavel moans loudly and squeezes harder, and he starts to move his hand up and down, while Khan whispers things in his ear like, “Harder,” and, “Faster,” and, “Swirl your thumb around the tip and bring it to your lips.” Pavel licks off several beads of precum before he looks ready, and he leans in closer and buries his head in Khan’s shoulder, whimpering in delight. Khan nibbles his ear and purrs, “Come for me, baby.”

Pavel’s breath hitches, and his hips hump Khan’s leg wildly while he bursts, splattering Khan’s chest. He keeps grinding until he’s spent every last drop, voice cracking and shoulders trembling. He collapses on top of Khan, and he mumbles into Khan’s skin, “You are _amazing_ , John.”

Stroking Pavel’s curls affectionately, Khan brushes them aside and presses a kiss to Pavel’s forehead.

For a few minutes, they’re just quiet, drinking in the silence of the apartment and the warmth in the air, the faint smell of sex and relief after a hard day’s work. Pavel says he’s happy to be back all the time, and he’s worked himself into a dichotomy with it. He loves working on a starship, he does, but he hates leaving Khan, and Khan sometimes slips in little hints that he could learn more, develop more, amongst a greater crew. Pavel says there is no greater crew.

Khan doesn’t mention that they’re all children.

“Are you hungry?” That’s Pavel’s way of saying that he’s hungry, but he’d be content to stay right here if Khan isn’t.

Khan arbitrarily decides, “Let’s get food.”

Sighing, Pavel pushes off him, slipping over the edge of the bed and wincing slightly when his feet hit the ground. He turns back and bites his bottom lip. Khan takes pity and reaches for the toy. Pavel gasps when it comes out, and he shudders a few times, switching weight from foot to foot. He gets into his clothes anyway, Khan watching.

Khan ripped his shirt in two. Khan puts on his own clothes and offers Pavel a spare shirt from the drawer—a plain black, long-sleeved shirt. It’s much too big for Pavel, and it slips down his shoulders, cutting low across his chest, adorable and sensual all at once: wholly endearing. He doesn’t complain, just asks, “Are we going out?”

Khan nods. He gestures for the door, and when Pavel’s out of it, he inserts his PADD into a hidden panel in the wall, closing it up with a few passcodes. He strolls out and Pavel walks beside him, while he says, “After all that sex, the least I can do is take you out for dinner.”

“I should take _you_ to dinner,” Pavel laughs. “I called you.”

Khan chooses to ignore that. He locks the apartment behind them, and then they’re in the turbolift, Khan pinning Pavel’s smaller frame to the glass wall behind them, using every secluded second they have. He slips his hand under his shirt on Pavel’s body, ravishing Pavel senseless, and by the time they hit the ground floor, Pavel’s panting and heavy-lidded again, trailing after Khan with unparalleled devotion. It’s sort of like walking an incredibly articulate puppy. ...That he has sex with.

They go to a small restaurant up the street, darkly lit and intimate, with low-hanging lights and black tablecloths. The servers are primarily Andorian, but the food is human, or, at least, an Andorian attempt at human. Pavel orders pasta and Khan orders wine; the portions are large enough to split. They spend half an hour waiting for the food, talking mainly about astral physics. They move on to transporters, where Pavel marvels over ‘Meester Scott’s’ transwarp theory. Here, Khan pays special attention. Starfleet’s confiscated it, apparently, and Khan’s fairly certain that security wouldn’t be difficult to break. Pavel seems to think it’s brilliant—the parts he’s been told, anyway.

“Meester Scott is a genius,” Pavel insists, “I consider myself wery lucky to hawe access to his brain.”

“You’re too modest,” Khan says. “You received your station and any fringe benefits through talent and hard work, not luck.”

Pavel glows, and the pasta’s served. It’s a large plate in the center of the table, and though they have their own sets of cutlery, Khan holds up Pavel’s first bite. Pavel leans across, opens his mouth, and bites it off like a child, having entirely too much fun.

Khan, sometimes, finds himself enjoying talking to Pavel entirely too much. He’s the closest thing to an even match as Khan’s come in this non-augment world. He doesn’t have Khan’s ruthlessness, or Khan’s raw power, or any desire to use any power at all. But he’s smart and he’s driven and he’s good with his hands, and somehow they work into a small debate over Starfleet’s newest shuttle designs while they swirl pasta around the green sauce. Pavel’s cheeks grow flushed with wine, and Khan asks, “You’re old enough to drink that, aren’t you?” He knows Pavel is, but Khan likes how Pavel scrunches his face when he gets teased.

Pavel sticks out his tongue and reaches over to lightly shove Khan’s shoulder, and he takes a stubbornly large gulp that leaves him coughing.

While they look over the dessert menu, Khan wonders, if things were given on a one-on-one basis, entirely out of context and in small increments, could Pavel be of help without discovering the truth? It’s been lonely and tiresome, sorting all these puzzles out on his own. He has several calculations to go on making the crytubes read on scanners like a part of the torpedo, or else he’ll have to mask the ability to scan entirely and produce a believable record for Marcus. Out of context, certain calculations could belong to anything.

They order ice cream, and Khan says, “I have more work to do at home after this, but perhaps you could provide assistance, if you’re willing.”

“Is your work not classified?” Pavel never asks too many questions; he’s polite and respectful. He’s grinning at the prospect though, always ready to learn.

“It is, but there are ways to give you raw, unattached data.”

“Zhen I would lowe too.” It’s clear on his face that he means it.


	5. *

They’re all in.

All seventy-two.

Fitted, safe and sound, impervious to scans and Marcus’ prying eyes. It took a lot of work. A complete override of most overnight systems. Forged logs, obviously, and a few doses of chemicals on certain officers, putting them to sleep or, in one instance, a tragic ‘accident.’

But they’re all in place now, and Khan can feel the victory in his mouth. He’s bristling with it. He leaves work at the same time he always does, the same way he always does, with brighter eyes but nothing suspicious. As soon as he’s out of the building, he flips open his communicator, and he says before Pavel can talk, “We’re celebrating.”

 _“What are we celebrating?”_ It doesn’t matter; Pavel sounds excited.

Khan’s got the smirk of a madman. “A sizeable achievement at work. I may be getting a promotion soon.”

_“Zhat is wonderful, John!”_

“Yes, it is. The parcel I brought you on Tuesday. I want you to open it and put it on.” He knew this was coming. Not when, but soon.

_“Put it on?”_

“Put it on and wait outside your building.”

 _“Yes, master,”_ Pavel laughs, joking but prepared to do anything. Khan’s smirk only grows as he snaps the communicator shut, shoving it into his jacket’s pocket and turning on his transporter. He’s hit the same spot he always does, and he beams right over.

Pavel’s on the other side of Starfleet Headquarters, closer to the Academy, and Khan has to will himself not to run. Slow, calm steps, like always, giving Pavel time. Everything will fit; Khan made sure of it. The balls of his feet are digging into the grass through his boots, he’s walking so hard. So heavy. He hits pavement again and he walks, and he can see Pavel when he’s on the end of the street; it’s hard to miss.

Pavel can’t see him, because Pavel’s blushing and looking down, under the awning of his building, the shade cast over his curls. He’s got his hands clasped in front of him, holding down the short skirt. It’s the exact same thing all of Pavel’s coworkers wear—or the women, anyway, though the options open to everyone. The same far-too-short, far-too-tight mini-dress, made shorter for Khan’s purpose. It’s the same brilliant gold Pavel wears on his ship, but he isn’t wearing the pin. He’s got the sheer stockings to match and tall, black stilettos, putting him almost at Khan’s height. Almost. He looks _delicious_ in it, blushing furiously and squirming.

Khan reaches Pavel and has to resist the urge to throw this tasty little thing right over his shoulder. He wants to carry Pavel home and throw him to the floor, but that’s a long time to wait.

Or it would be, if they had to walk. Khan’s already reprogramming his transporter with one hand and scooping up Pavel’s small waist with the other. Pavel gasps and grabs onto his shoulders, saying, “John—”

Khan smashes their lips together and slides down the lever, the heat of the beam washing over them, their molecules spinning. They’re in Khan’s living room a second later—Khan needs to be close to all his resources just in case—but for now he should be safe. He got away with it. _He got away with it_. He’s kissing Pavel and feeling Pavel up all the way to the bedroom, and then he pushes Pavel away and sits on the bed.

Feeling more powerful than he ever has, Khan lounges back and hisses, “Dance for me.”

Pavel laughs, bright and brilliant, “What’s gotten into you?”

Khan sticks up his leg and nudges the crotch of Pavel’s dress with his boot, and Pavel gasps, stepping back. The dress clings to his lithe shape, snug over his hips, showing all his subtle curves and boyish lines. If his nipples were hard, they’d probably poke through it. Khan will have to work on that. Pavel’s legs are a little bowed from trying to stand in heels, his knees too close together. He’s got a pretty enough face to pull it off. Khan growls in his sexiest voice, which is always enough to make Pavel wild, “Dance. For. _Me._ ”

Pavel bites his lip and moans—he loves the sound of Khan’s voice when it’s natural. When it’s actually trying, Pavel can never resist.

He starts to slowly sway his hips side to side, and he runs one hand down his hips and one around the back of his neck, groaning, “Should I strip dance?”

Teeth barred like the predator he is, Khan shakes his head. He wants to fuck Pavel in that outfit. He wants Pavel to be a girl for him sometimes, a dog for him others, a toy, or a doll, or whatever Khan might like. Pavel’s good at all of it. Pavel’s a quick learner. Even without a beat, he’s got rhythm, and he sinks lower to the ground as he moves, slowly straightening again, leaning forward and arching his head back, shoulders rising and hands touching all over his body.

Khan hisses, “Rub your nipples. Get them hard—I want to see them.”

Pavel moans, “Yes, master.” He obeys immediately, hands rubbing in circles over his chest while his hips sway back and forth. They’re tenting the fabric in no time, and Khan nods his head. Pavel picks up on the meaning and turns around, sticking out his ass and bending forward, so the fabric’s forced to ride up it, exposing the bottom of his pale cheeks. The stockings stop at his upper thigh, cutting a line in his skin and leaving everything beyond that bare. Khan’s lounging on one elbow and using the other hand to massage himself through his pants. It’s a good day.

When Pavel turns back around, his eyes fall immediately to Khan’s lap. He strolls forward, legs beautifully accentuated with the heels, ass swaying even more because of them. He puts one knee on the bed to the right of Khan, and he arches his body forward, their crotches almost touching. Then he puts his hands on Khan’s shoulder and brings the other knee up to Khan’s other side, so he can give Khan a proper lap dance. He isn’t wearing any underwear, and Khan can see the outlines of his cock through the dress and feel the globes of his ass grinding over Khan’s pants.

Khan enjoys the lap dance for about five minutes. Then he shoves Pavel off him so hard that Pavel yelps and tumbles to the floor, and Khan’s over him in a heartbeat, grabbing him by the waist and moving him farther from the bed. Khan sinks on top of him, and Pavel’s legs part instinctively, wrapping around Khan’s waist, dress riding up, heels digging into the small of Khan’s back. Khan grinds his Pavel hard into the ground, ready to fuck.

Pavel opens his mouth, but Khan covers it with his tongue. He shoves right into Pavel’s throat and shoves his finger into Pavel’s ass, not at all slow. Pavel squeaks against him. Pavel’s already wet. He parts easily. He fingered himself: perfect.

Without breaking their kiss, Khan yanks his own pants open, reaching in for his cock. It’s more than hard enough from the lap dance and the dance and just the thought of doing this. Pavel’s hands are against Khan’s chest, fingers spread out and palms pressing into his pecs. Pavel shoves lightly; he obviously still wants to say something.

With two fingers buried deep in Pavel’s ass, Khan breaks the kiss to growl, “What’d you want, baby?”

Pavel gasps, “I want to beg you to fuck me.”

Chuckling darkly, Khan works in a third finger and hisses, “Better do it fast, then.”

“ _John_ ,” Pavel moans, long and drawn out and sung like a true professional, “I want your big cock in me so bad I can hardly stand it! I hawe been zhinking about it all day...” While Khan descends on Pavel’s neck, Pavel keens and tugs at his hair. “I got so hard so many times, but I knew you would not like me to touch myself, so I had to bear it and try to zhink of ozher zhings, but all I could zhink of was _you_... and how full you stuff me full of your giant cock, your big, huge dick, I lowe it _so_ much, _ohhhh_...” He breaks off into useless noises when Khan pulls out his fingers and puts the head against that ripe, dripping entrance, twitching with anticipation.

Khan grabs Pavel’s curly hair and yanks his head back, earning a cry of pain and making it impossible for Pavel to kiss him. Khan coos cruelly, “You’re such a good girlfriend.”

Pavel looks like he’s never earned higher praise in his life. He chews his lower lip and he closes his eyes, waiting to be released and fucked properly.

Khan lets go the second he slams in, and Pavel shrieks and arches. His fingers claw in Khan’s shirt, his heels trying to slam Khan even further in. Khan goes all the way hard, pulls out again fast, slams in again brutal and keeps it up. He makes Pavel bounce with the force, and he lets Pavel surge up to him and kiss him wildly, clinging to him and wrestling their tongues together. Khan rolls up the dress to feel his stomach, ravishing him all over.

Fucking Pavel into anything is always fun, but fucking him into the floor has a certain grittiness to it that Khan particularly enjoys. He wants Pavel up on a pedestal, pristine and perfect, and he wants Pavel filthy and empty at his feet, and he wants Pavel every which way in between. Pavel’s young and flexible and will do _everything_. He’ll be the perfect accessory on Khan’s future ship. He can man the navigation panel in front of Khan, and he can turn around and come sit in his captain’s lap when Khan ordains it. The thought of fucking Pavel in the captain’s chair is ecstasy, and a mini-dress will make that easier. Khan won’t let Pavel clean up after. He’ll make Pavel walk around full of his juices, exposed and dripping whenever he bends over. Pavel will be his toy and his officer and everything he needs. He snarls into Pavel’s ear, “You’re _mine_.”

“Yes, yes,” Pavel insists, voice breaking and high pitched like it always gets when he’s being fucked hard and deep. “Yours, yours!”

“You’ll come with me to my ship like a good girlfriend, and you’ll bow to your new captain and please me in every way...”

“My _keptain,_ ” Pavel sighs. He sounds delirious with pleasure. “I will do anyzhing you want...”

Khan kisses his cheek, the side of his lips, his mouth. Their tongues are back to fighting and Khan’s hips are going wild. Pavel’s ass must be bruised and sore from hitting the ground. The slapping sound it makes is beautiful. Pavel’s arms have slipped around his back, holding him in as tightly as possible. Pavel’s so _tight_. Pavel’s always like that. Hot and wet and perfect for him, always ready and always wanting. Eager and pretty and smart. Pavel’s the best fucking thing.

He comes first without being touched. He screams, “ _John!_ ” and spills all over the two of them, tensing all over, ass clenching. It’s unbelievable, and it rips the orgasm right out of Khan’s body. It surges through him with a roar, and Khan can see the stars.

He doesn’t stop for a second, even when he’s filled Pavel up with hot seed. Pavel whimpers and squirms, but Khan doesn’t let him go, still fucking him into the floor, again and again. Khan’s crew is safe. He’s going to have them and Pavel. He’s going to have everything. He’s celebrating, and he’s going to fuck Pavel’s pretty brains out of his skull, over and over.

Pavel purrs and nuzzles into him, satiated but still pleading, “Fuck me, fuck me. I am _all_ yours.”


	6. *

They’re in bed again, after work on a rainy day. The Enterprise has another mission coming up, and Pavel spends most of the night sighing against the pitter-patter outside, “I will miss you, John.”

Khan makes a murmur of agreement. He’s on his back with Pavel lying beside him, head on his arm like a pillow and arm across his chest. He’s absently playing with Pavel’s curls, and he reassures the gorgeous, naked bundle in his arms with a calm, “It won’t be for much longer, darling.” He drawls the last word like a promise: a hook to reel Pavel in. As though Pavel needs any reeling. They’ve reached official boyfriend status. Or, they did awhile ago, but Khan is just now starting to acknowledge that in his own head. 

Augments are allowed to find mates, too. Augments feel emotion, and augments can marry, and augments should get precisely what they want. He wants Pavel. He’s too attached, but he isn’t going to deny himself such a good catch as far as toys go. He’s sure Pavel will be an asset to his ship, and he says, “I expect to be getting a starship very, very soon, and then you will, of course, be transferring to mine...”

Pavel sighs, like that’s a difficult thing to say. But he does nod. Khan has no doubt that when the time comes, Pavel will make the right decision. 

Pavel curls further into him and yawns, “Tell me a story?”

“A story?” Khan chuckles. The lights are all off, though the window provides enough illumination to see all of Pavel’s pretty curves and soft lines, backlighting him in blue. A bedtime story, perhaps. That’s not something Khan’s ever done before. 

But something does come to mind. 

How do these things start? “...Where shall I begin?”

“Once upon a time,” Pavel provides helpfully.

“Once upon a time,” Khan repeats, deeper and melodic, like a lullaby he’ll put Pavel to sleep with, set for pleasant dreams. “There was a planet with many, many people on it. These people were very emotional. They loved hard, and they fought hard, and over time, their fighting grew so unbearable that they threatened to consume the planet itself.”

“Bad people,” Pavel pouts, laughing. But he lifts up on his elbows, pillowing his chin in his hands to listen. He’s smiling brightly, as though both surprised and delighted that Khan gave in to his request. “What happened to zhem?”

“Well... they knew they had to do something, but none of them had what it took to really do that something. So they made beings that could.”

“Robots?” Pavel asks. Because that’s how these stories often go.

Khan chuckles. “Something far better.”

“And did the robots fix everything?”

“Mostly. They had to take power away from the people, but they did impose order.”

“And zhen zhey turned on zhe people?”

“You’ve read too many science fiction stories.” Khan ruffles Pavel’s hair affectionately, and Pavel shakes his head and quiets. “No, they were very efficient leaders. Everyone was happy and safe. There were no more wars, no more hunger, no more struggles. The beings actually turned on each other. Each thought their method of peace was the best, and while they struggled for power, then the people rose against them.”

“Zhat’s not wery fair.”

“No, it wasn’t. One man, the most powerful and intelligent of them all, had garnered the most power, but it was too late. The people were too violent, too riotous. They rose up and overthrew the being they themselves had created, condemning him to death.”

“To deazh?” Pavel sits up straighter, frowning. “How could zhey sentence somezhing to deazh zhey zhemselwes made?”

“I don’t know. But they hated him for what he was, even though he had freed them from the chaos of war. Perhaps it was because he was superior. Better than them.” Here Khan leisurely adds, “I’m not sure. It’s only a story I heard somewhere.”

Pavel frowns. “I feel wery sorry for zhat man. Power should go to zhe one who is most able to do the zhe best, if zhat one does truly use power for good.” Pavel nods, full of conviction, and he sinks back down to the bed, lying back on Khan’s outstretched arm. “So...? Did he die?”

Khan shakes his head. “He was superior, Pavel. He devised a clever way to escape, although it left him alone in the universe, sleeping alongside his family: the others that had been created by the original people.”

“Sleeping? Zhis sounds like a faerie tale now.”

“Yes, sleeping.”

“And he slept until zhe end of time? Zhat is how it ends?”

“No.”

“No?”

“The people found him again.” Pavel frowns, and Khan smiles sadly at him. “The people took away his family, and he was all alone again until the end of time. _That_ is how it ends.”

Pavel pauses for a moment, digesting every word. His fingers resume lightly stroking Khan’s chest, and he sighs, “Zhat is a wery sad story. I wish I could rescue zhat man.” Khan’s grinning, and his arm curves tighter around Pavel’s back, pulling Pavel in. The irony comes when Pavel sighs, “Zhe Federation would rescue him. What an awful people.”

Khan repeats, “It’s only a story,” and kisses Pavel’s forehead.


	7. *#

He was so careful. _So_ careful. Every little secret guarded, not a hair out of place, shifting through broad daylight like the genius he is without a trail, and somehow... somehow Marcus _knows_.

There’s no time to stay and fight it. Marcus can’t tell Starfleet what he’s done, so there are no flashing red lights. But Marcus has all the cameras perched to find him, and Marcus has private security men like Khan has red blood cells. They close in on him everywhere he steps, and this is precisely why he keeps the transporter clipped to his belt. He’ll need to pick up the larger one for interplanetary beaming from his second apartment...

He doesn’t go to San Francisco. He can’t. He can never go back to his apartment, the regular one purchased in his name. He’s acutely aware that Pavel is waiting at the coffee shop for him, but Pavel will have to keep waiting. Khan finds himself on the outskirts of London. He warps a few more times to be careful. He had a plan for this, of course. He always has backups. He keeps the collar of his coat turned up against the facial recognition software in the surveillance monitors, and he waits on the terrace of a hospital. He knows the man he’s waiting for and knows a right time will come. It’s a little cold and a little windy.

Harewood comes out twenty three minutes later, solid and grief stricken, leaning on the railing, and Khan breathes, “I can save her.”

* * *

All it will take is one explosion. Lives will be lost, but it’s necessary. Khan has to act fast.

There is a very, very real possibility that Marcus will slaughter his crew. It could’ve already happened. Khan’s best bet is to get those torpedoes mounted on a ship, and to do that he has to negate any possibility of a fair trial. He needs the Federation blindly and furiously after him, loaded up with hollowed guns.

Or he needs Marcus dead. He _wants_ Marcus dead. That’s half the plan. If his crew is alive, rescue would be considerably easier with Marcus out of the way.

If his crew is dead, Marcus needs to _be dead._

Either way, Khan digs the needle into his skin and flexes his arm, watching the blood surge up into the clear container. The ring is almost ready. The bomb in it was easy enough to build, harder to deploy. But that’s what the blood’s for.

There’s a rage in him that can’t be described. 

He calls Pavel once and says he’ll be out of town, that’s all, and he hangs up and doesn’t answer any more calls. His voice is shaking with fury and his knuckles are white from being clenched so much.

_They’ll all pay._

* * *

Harewood’s eyes are watering when he takes it. He’s a strong man, for a non-augment. But all men are weak below Khan, and he believes what he wants. Khan wouldn’t bother with fabrication where he has true power. He lets Harewood deliver the blood himself and watch the machines surge back to life, air sucking into his daughter’s veins. She’ll live, and she’ll be stronger than any of them.

She’ll grow up without a father. Khan tails Harewood and stands at the corner, still as stone and seething inside. Across the street, Harewood sucks in a breath. Khan gave his daughter life.

Khan can take it away.

Harewood sinks down to the bottom floor of the Kelvin Memorial Archive. Khan watches him go.

Khan warps to a building’s roof significantly far away, and he turns to watch the Federation fall.


	8. #

_“John, please, I’m worried—what is going on?”_ Pavel’s voice is harried and strained. He will have heard the news by now—not the specifics—not _who did it_ —but what happened. Khan simply repeats his original question.

“Where are you?”

_“At my place—are you in London? Are you alright?”_

“I need you to stay exactly where you are, Pavel. Don’t go outside. Do you understand?”

_“John?”_

But Khan’s wasted all the time he can afford, and he closes the communicator. He’s nearing his target. The larger transporter is at his side in the front—it’s not one that’ll come with him. It needs to go a much greater distance. It’s traceable, but that doesn’t matter. 

He needs Marcus dead. It’s gone from want to need. He isn’t kidding himself; his crew is most likely dead. Marcus will be dead, and all those who might’ve known but never helped will fall just as hard. His crew should’ve been woken in the first place. No, they should never have been exiled in the first place. And how are they held accountable for crimes committed over two hundred years ago? Has the statue of limitations not passed on a well-intended mishap? It’s absurd. He’s clearing buildings and descending. 

The counsel will have gathered. Everything that could stop him, all in one neat little room. The fallacy of the human race never ceases to amaze him. 

A few more meters and he’s at it. Looking right into their room, blaring red headlights through the glass, washing over naïve little faces. One of them stands up, and the firing begins.

His shuttle hovers in midair and rains shots into their chests, shattering the glass and sending leaders to their knees. The screams and alarms and clatter of gunfire are deafening. He keeps a steady hand, not particularly aiming through the haze of blood and fog the rubble brings, not needing to. It’s a small room. They’re all so _mortal_. One shot and they’re down. Armed security comes pouring out the backdoors: nothing an aircraft can’t handle. He’s sure a few of them see his face. He doesn’t care. He wants them to know it’s him, but it doesn’t matter; they’ll all be dead before they can tell. He keeps firing and firing. 

A window shatters to his right. He doesn’t even blink. He’s counting their faces—he knows all the important ones. Marcus. Where’s Marcus? Did he somehow get behind a pillar? Khan will bring the whole building down if he has to—he can always pull back and send the shuttle into just the right place—

Suddenly the shuttle jerks violently, and Khan’s jerked forward in his seat. It’s spinning; something’s caught in one of the turbines. He straightens and looks to the side. 

A man’s standing in the building, bloodied and behind shattered glass. A blond with bright blue eyes. Khan takes every centimeter of him in. 

Khan flips the switch on his transporter. 

He’s glaring while he’s pulled out.


	9. %

He’s in the brig of the Enterprise. Caught on Kronos. Or rather, apprehended; he turned himself in. The cell’s of no consequences. Seventy-two. That’s how many torpedoes are on board, and if they were sent to rain down on Kronos, there’s a good chance Khan’s crew is still in them. It’s foolish, and it’ll mean war, but that’s just what Marcus will want. Marcus is a fool, and he’s played right into Khan’s hands. Now Khan’s on a ship with his crew, barriers between them, but all he has to do is get rid of Marcus and he’ll bend these bars like paper. It’s a shame Marcus didn’t die in the conference, but no one else would be this insane, so he must be alive.

Kirk isn’t a problem. He’s weak—Khan could see it in his eyes. He heard out Khan’s story, and he’ll take Khan’s advice, Khan’s sure of it. The Vulcan was smart—he said not to trust Khan. Khan’s words are valid, but his motives are wrong.

He’ll take this ship, and if he can’t have it, he’ll take the Vengeance. It’s just a matter of when and how, and Khan’s sitting on the bench in his cell when the doors to the brig open. Khan can see the red flash out the corner of his eye, and he looks over, standing up.

“John,” Pavel hisses, eyebrows knit together and voice breathless. He hurries to the front of the glass, and the guard at the desk behind him pays no notice. He walks right up, and then he hesitates, and then he takes a step back, shaking his head as though he can’t believe it. His eyes are full of pain, mouth open and teeth close to gritting. “John, what...”

“Khan.” Khan says it as gently as he can. Pavel looks confused, and Khan explains, “It’s my real name. Khan Noonien Singh.”

Pavel closes his eyes. His face scrunches up. He looks to the side. He recognizes the name. Of course he does. He worked so hard in the Academy, he will have studied everything. Khan earned himself a fair few chapters in Earth history. Pavel swallows and says, “I should hawe known...”

“You couldn’t have known. The man who woke me gave me the name John Harrison; he gave me that identity. ...And then he used me to his will, to build weapons to start his war.”

“You lied to me!” Pavel interrupts, head swiveling around suddenly, voice strained. “You killed all zhose people—”

“They weren’t innocent,” Khan hisses. He’ll lie if he has to. Losing Pavel isn’t part of the plan, and he needs Pavel now more than ever. He gets as close to the glass as he can, towering over Pavel through it. “Don’t you see? If I’d managed to kill them and the admiral who woke me, I would’ve saved the Federation a war with the entire Klingon Empire.”

“What are you talki—”

“Ask your captain. You think the warp core just happened to spring a coolant leak—that’s what it is, by the way—stranding you right on the edge of Klingon space by accident? This is the admiral’s plan. He would’ve found some way to get those torpedoes here no matter what. Don’t you think it’s strange that a vessel of peace is carrying seventy-two experimental torpedoes to a hostile planet? Come now, Pavel, you’re smarter than that.”

Pavel looks close to tears. He opens his mouth, but he only closes it again, looking down. Khan wants to reach right through the glass and hold him, but that isn’t possible. Instead, Khan softly explains, “I never wanted to hurt you, Pavel. I wouldn’t have lied to you if I didn’t have to. Admiral Marcus had my crew—he would’ve killed them if I’d done anything else. He wanted to use them, and me, our superiority to start a war that would’ve killed billions of innocent people. I tried to save my crew, my family, but when he found out that I was trying to rescue them... I had no choice. I thought he’d killed them. I needed to stop him before he killed the rest of the Federation and _you_.”

Pavel takes another step back. He’s shaking his head like he can’t believe it.

“Trust me,” Khan hisses. “You will see. I gave your captain the coordinates to Marcus’ plot. He’ll discover it, and you’ll see.” He waits, but Pavel still doesn’t say anything. Khan asks, trying to be lighter, “Why are you in red...?”

“I hawe been promoted to chief engineer... J- _Khan_ , I...” Pavel covers his mouth. The tears are inevitable, but Khan’s trying to hold them off as long as possible.

“Pavel,” he whispers. “My name was a lie, but nothing else. My work was real, my words were real, every minute we spent together was _real_.”

“Were you using me?” Pavel steps closer again, so the security guard at the desk won’t hear. His eyes are full and earnest. “Please, I need to know.”

Not yet. There wasn’t the opportunity. Khan says clearly, “No.”

“You started a war...”

“Marcus started the war,” Khan hisses, “I tried to prevent it.”

“Zhe Eugenics War—I read about it in school; it was terrible...”

“I ruled with peace,” Khan insists. “Or did your textbooks leave that out? I brought peace to Earth—I did exactly what they created me for.”

“You were too strong,” Pavel says quietly. “Too intelligent, too charming, too ewerzhing...” He shakes his head. He’s tearing up. “I should hawe known.”

“And yet I chose you,” Khan growls. He’s so close to the glass that his nose is nearly touching it. He puts his palms against it, wanting to touch Pavel. “I am superior in _every_ way to every man you’ve ever met, and yet I chose to spend every second I could spare with _you_. Doesn’t that say anything? How can I be such a monster when you yourself held me? Don’t tell me you don’t know how I feel about you.” Khan presses his forehead to the cold surface, eyes burning and lips snarling, “I _love_ you, Pavel Chekov. Don’t pretend you don’t know that.”

Pavel’s crying. The tears leak out, and one tumbles down his cheek as he says, looking away, “I do not ewen know who you are.”

“Pavel—”

Pavel’s head snaps around. He isn’t the weak, submissive little thing that lay in Khan’s bed. He’s fire and pain. “How can I beliewe you now?”

“I was going to take you with me—”

“Ensign Chekov,” the guard calls suddenly, standing up behind them. “It’s Engineering. They need you immediately.”

Pavel spares one look at Khan. Then he backs up a few paces, turns, and runs.


	10. %

It’s a series of insanity pleas, but that seems to be Kirk’s captaining style. Khan’s moved to sickbay to avoid Marcus, then he’s moved to the Vengeance to stop Marcus, then he’s on the bridge and one of them has the nerve to hit him with a phaser. He’s up again and he’s crippled them all, and the only reason he doesn’t murder them right here is that he has unfinished business.

Spock, the man left in charge, asks for time to deliver the torpedoes loaded with Khan’s crew. Khan isn’t stupid. Spock says his transporters aren’t online. Khan’s are. He takes every single one of the torpedoes before the Vulcan has time to mess with them. He scans the room they’re in—his ship is damaged, but functional. His crew is in them. They’re offline. Spock asks for Kirk, and Khan only agrees because, “A ship should go down with her captain.”

He’s gone wild, with his dark hair hanging down in his eyes and his temper lost—it shouldn’t have been this risky and complicated. Kirk shouldn’t have betrayed him. He sends the three limp figures on his bridge back, and he scans Spock’s ship again, and he plucks the new chief right out of engineering. Pavel materializes in front of him, bent over as though examining a console.

He straightens in a heartbeat, head snapping between Khan and the monitor, showing a view of the Enterprise’s bridge. The Vulcan looks shocked, and he demands, “What are you—”

But Khan ends the transmission, ready to fire phasers. Pavel scrambles over in a flash, darting around the console and trying to shove Khan away, but Khan’s too sturdy, and Pavel’s the one that stumbles to the floor. “Khan!” He shouts, and he latches himself around Khan’s waist, trying to pull him down. “Don’t, don’t!”

“Get off,” Khan hisses. He grabs Pavel’s shoulder hard enough to bruise. Pavel shrieks in pain, and Khan tosses him off. Pavel sobs, trying to stand up and clutching his shoulder. He’s crying, his eyes are wide: a _mess_.

“Khan, _please!_ ” Yet he makes it to Khan’s side again. Khan’s setting the target. “If you lowe me, you won’t do zhis!” His words are obscured by his sobs and the tears getting caught in his mouth, but Khan freezes.

Khan’s panting with his own anger. He looks sideways at Pavel’s crumpled face, streaming with tears and scrunched up in pain. Pain Khan caused—no, Marcus caused. “Please,” Pavel repeats, gulping. He clings to Khan’s arm, and Khan looks down at his small, trembling hands. “Please, please, I will do _anyzhing._ You said your crew was your family. My crew is mine. I am _begging_ you, do not kill zhem.”

Khan fires phasers. Not at their life support, not at their bridge, but at their weapons. Pavel’s head whips around to the silent explosions through the void between them, and Khan says, “I’m disabling their weapons and engines so they can’t come after us.” Pavel looks back at him, trembling. Khan closes one hand around Pavel’s. “I’m leaving them alive because of you—let that be your proof of who I am to you.”

“In Klingon space,” Pavel says, ever the genius. “Wizh no engines zhey are as good as dead...”

Khan scoffs. “The treaty wouldn’t allow that—they’d simply be taken prisoner. But you know as well as I do that your resourceful captain will likely avoid it.”

Pavel whispers, “Send me back. I should be wizh zhem.”

Khan looks away, firing.


	11. ~

He won’t be able to get them out. Dreadnaught class starships—or ship, this is the only one built _so far_ —aren’t equipped with medical facilities. They’re for one thing and one thing only: war.

All it’ll take is one small planet without defensive capabilities, and Khan will have the equipment he needs. He can get them out himself with the right tools, and he plots a course for Ceti Alpha V, taking the long way around to avoid Starfleet outposts. They’ll come after him, of course. They won’t succeed.

In the meantime, Khan checks every single one of the cryotubes. He takes them out of the torpedoes, one by one, a time consuming and painstaking task. It would be faster if he had another set of hands. The course will take some time. He does it himself.

He returns, when he’s done, to his quarters. The doors require a manual override with his security clearance—he’s locked them. It’s the captain quarters, and they’re large but sparse. He doesn’t find Pavel in the initial living room space or the bedroom past that. The door of his bathroom doesn’t open when he approaches it.

There’s a stab of annoyance in Khan’s chest. He didn’t expect a faerie tale, but that doesn’t mean his lover should be locking himself in the bathroom like a child. Eighteen-nineteen, now—might be a child, but that’s no excuse. Restraining his aggravation, Khan knocks on the door—grey and dark like the rest of the metallic, cold ship—and says evenly, “Pavel.”

Pavel doesn’t answer. Khan leans his head against it, and he thinks he can hear faint sobs through it. Pulling back again, he slams his fist into the metal and demands, “Pavel, open this door!”

He could wrench the wall panel open. He could probably even rip the door open with his bare hands. But that isn’t how he’s going to play this—Pavel’s going to bend to him. He hits it again, and there’s a noise on the other side.

The door slides back into the wall, and Pavel, standing strong on the other side, abruptly slaps Khan across the face. Khan barely even moves with the impact; Pavel’s the one that winces. But Khan’s shocked, and for a few seconds, all he does is look at the trembling ball of nerves before him.

“You’re still mad at me.” Khan says it as a simple statement of fact. Pavel shakes his head and scrubs at his eyes, wiping the tears off on the back of his hand. Seeing Pavel cry... it’s not pleasant. “I don’t see why. We’re together now, like you clearly wanted to be.”

“You would hawe killed zhem!” Pavel shrieks. His fists ball at his sides, slicing through the air. “You were going to kill eweryone I care about! How can you act like nozhing has changed?”

“I didn’t kill them,” Khan answers stiffly. “I only did what I had to do. If I hadn’t stepped in, Marcus would’ve killed them, and you.”

“And you were also going to! And all zhose people on Earzh, so many years ago... and you _lied_ to me...”

“I explained to you why I did that.” Khan’s voice is getting steely. “I had no choice. And it doesn’t matter. Everything’s worked out now—”

“How can I lowe a murder?” Pavel’s panting with his own anguish, and he looks up at Khan, utterly broken and beautiful, even through his red eyes and his lip swollen from being chewed. Khan inhales steadily.

Khan cups Pavel’s face in both his hands. He leans forward and presses their lips together, and for the first time, Pavel struggles to get away, pushing at his chest. He’s nothing. He’s so weak next to Khan, but Khan pulls back anyway, looking into Pavel’s hazel eyes. He says, “You still love me.”

“I do not,” Pavel insists, voice cracked and eyes tearing up again. “I can’t, I can’t. You are a _murderer_.”

“You do,” Khan hisses. He grabs Pavel’s hips, and he swivels Pavel easily on the spot, shoving him into the bedroom. Pavel’s shaking, turns, and Khan forces him back against the bed. “You _adore_ me. You’ve never loved anyone as much as you love me, and you’re not about to stop just because you’ve found out how god-like I really am.”

Pavel shakes his head. The back of his knees hit the bed, and Khan shoves him back onto it. Pavel squeaks, and Khan’s crawls right on top of him. Pavel breathes, “You are a monster...”

“I am your _everything._ ” He picks Pavel up again, easily, one arm under his waist, and Pavel pushes at his shoulders while he turns Pavel, laying him down properly in the bed, head in the pillows. Pavel whimpers.

“No, no, you are not going to fuck me...” He’s going to cry again. Khan pins his hands easily to the mattress.

“I’m going to _make love to you_ when you ask me to, and you _will_.”

“Khan...” Pavel tries to cry, but he hiccups instead. His lip’s trembling. Khan can’t resist. He leans down and runs his tongue along it, soothing it still, sucking it into his mouth and working it gently. He slips his tongue back between Pavel’s lips, and Pavel doesn’t quite kiss back, but he doesn’t bite or turn away, either. Khan can feel the turmoil in him. The hurt, the betrayal, the desire. He tastes like he always does, just like Khan remembers and missed.

Pavel’s struggling with himself too much to breathe properly. Khan pulls back to give him that space, then pecks his cheek tenderly. Pavel turns his head away.

Then he knees Khan suddenly in the stomach, and Khan feels it but has no reaction. Pavel’s wrists strain in Khan’s grasp, and he fights, struggling and writhing back and forth, trying to break free or kick Khan off. Khan lets go and sits back to wait it out—he’s stronger and it’s useless, and Pavel could role away now and leave, but doesn’t. Khan fully intends to leave that option open, fully knowing Pavel won’t take it. He’s still going to be gentle. He’s trying to show Pavel why this can work.

Pavel gives an angry snarl and spits, and it hits Khan’s cheek. A part of Khan is shocked, but the rest of him is a little... impressed.

Since Pavel won’t leave his bed, Khan lunges down and kisses Pavel harder, and Pavel tries to knock him aside, but Khan’s skull is so much thicker than Pavel’s little one. Khan could crush Pavel’s easily, but he doesn’t. He shoves his tongue between Pavel’s lips, and then he jerks it back just in time to avoid Pavel’s teeth. Pavel tries to spit on him again; this time Khan dodges.

Khan spits on Pavel’s lips, and Pavel whimpers and gags while it trickles into his mouth. Khan glares, making it clear that two can play at that game. Pavel’s face scrunches up, and he turns it to the side, and he mumbles softly, “I hate you, I hate you.”

It hurts more than anything else Pavel’s done. But Khan’s stronger than that. He says as evenly as he can manage, “No, you don’t.”

“I do!” Pavel insists, twisting and turning, maybe just trying to be trouble. “You are awful! I newer lowed you!” 

It’s a lie, but it’s an ugly one. Khan lowers down again and has to fight with himself not to rip Pavel’s clothes off and put this energy to use. When he does nothing for too long, Pavel’s free hands start beating on Khan’s chest, but Khan barely registers it. He does rip Pavel’s shirt for that. He destroys it. He can meet violence with violence, though he could destroy _Pavel_ and won’t. He pulls a particularly long piece from under Pavel’s back, and he grabs both of Pavel’s wrists, wrapping them firmly in the bright red fabric. Then he shoves it back against the wall, and he leans forward and finds the bedframe, the metal pole beneath. He reaches back for another strip, and he uses that to tie Pavel firmly to the bed. He’s not going to be hit for what he had to do. Pavel chokes on a sob and tries to snarl, “Fine, fuck me, but it will not be making lowe! Zhis is zhe only way you can hawe me, but you are renting! You do not own me!”

Khan towers over his catch. He didn’t mean to make Pavel cry. Pavel looks angrier more than he does sad now, and he’s trembling from agony and false hatred, but not from fear. Hatred, Khan will tolerate. Fear, he won’t. Not from Pavel. He looks at Pavel sternly, and Pavel quiets a little, still not calm, but close. Khan says clearly and deliberately, “You’re mine, just like I’m yours. Don’t lie to me, Pavel.”

“I don’t want you,” Pavel lies. “Zhis will be cold, meaningless sex.” He’s trying so hard to be strong, but Khan can see the lies all over his face. Reading human emotion is easy, and Pavel’s teaming with it. Of course he wants Khan. He makes it clear just by saying it; Khan wouldn’t put sex here if Pavel weren’t still bringing it up. He wants Khan to take him and make everything alright; he’s just a stubborn, young human and he doesn’t know how to get there. He bucks up at Khan’s chest, and Khan grunts. He runs his hands down Pavel’s bare sides, and he climbs off, settling down between Pavel’s legs, if for nothing else than to drape over Pavel and _hold_ Pavel until the sobs subside. He expects Pavel to kick him, but he’s prepared.

He’s less prepared for Pavel to part his own legs around Khan’s body. Too keyed up on the height of both their emotions to deal with mixed signals, Khan starts tugging down the black, standard issue uniform pants, pulling them across Pavel’s thighs. Pavel isn’t even struggling anymore, whether for show or otherwise. He even rolls his hips into Khan, bitterly repeats a hissed, “Renting,” and does it again. Khan grinds back into him, and Pavel gasps and stills.

They stare at each other for a long, heated moment, and then Pavel bucks into him again. So Khan holds Pavel’s legs right up in the air and tugs off his boots, his pants and underwear going with them. Pavel’s left with nothing. Plain, empty, and beautiful. His cock is half hard, lying against his stomach, and when Khan leans down again, he rubs his own tented pants into Pavel’s crotch. Pavel tries to buck up into him, getting harder. Khan unzips his pants, and he waits for the ‘no’ to come, but it doesn’t.

A whispered, “I hate you,” and Pavel’s head rolls to the side, glaring at the wall. His cock twitches beneath Khan, and Khan pulls off his own shirt. He gets up on his knees and rids himself of his own boots and pants, and he sees the way Pavel tries to watch out the corner of his eye. His cheeks are flushed. Khan kisses the side of his face and his exposed neck, and Pavel whimpers in sudden distress, straining at his bonds; Khan can’t do this cold.

“It’ll be alright,” Khan purrs. His cock is rubbing against Pavel’s, getting them both harder and harder, dry, but _delicious_. Khan missed this. He puts one hand at Pavel’s mouth. It’ll be rough, since Pavel wants to be a brat, but they’ll need some form of lube, however inferior.

Pavel keeps his lips stubbornly closed, only opening them to quickly hiss, “Do it raw.”

Even angry, Khan wouldn’t do that. Even if it seems to be what Pavel wants right now—maybe physical pain to wash out the emotional turmoil. Khan won’t have that and bites Pavel’s ear to force his mouth open.

Pavel doesn’t bite the three fingers that stab into his mouth. He almost chokes, and he shudders, but then he just glares down at them and sucks them in. Khan pistons them, getting them nice and wet, playing with Pavel’s tongue and pressing into Pavel’s cheek. Pavel makes a keening noise and sucks harder, but the look he shoots Khan is murderous. Khan soothes, “There’s a good boy. You just need to trust me...”

Pavel responds by trying to bite, but Khan whips his fingers out and reaches down for Pavel’s ass, spread open and ready. Khan’s still got Pavel’s legs around him, and he presses one finger at Pavel’s puckered entrance, massaging it lightly. He looks up and catches Pavel’s eyes. If Pavel said no, even so much as mouthed it, Khan would stop. But Pavel just stares back, making the fire worse with his swollen lips and his red eyes and his pretty face all screwed up with emotion.

Khan leans their foreheads together. He dives one finger in; Pavel tenses. Pavel mumbles, “Monster,” then, quiet, “Fuck me.” He squirms on Khan’s finger, and he tries to push Khan’s head away with his own forehead, but Khan pins him down and holds him there. After a bit of stretching, the second fingers goes in, careful and kneading Pavel’s tight walls apart. Pavel isn’t crying at all, but he’s breathing heavily and he still makes choked sounds. A third finger. Khan kisses Pavel’s forehead, stroking his curls. Khan slips his fingers out and waits.

Pavel scrunches up his face and hisses, quietly but deliberately, designed to make everything sting, “I hate you.”

“No.” Khan lines the head of his cock up, thumbing Pavel’s cheek and petting Pavel’s hip, and he uses his deepest, most calming voice, purring just the way he knows Pavel likes it. It won’t be just angry sex. “You’re upset, but when you’re past that, you’ll be glad everything happened. You’re going to get to be with me, just like you wanted. I’m going to rule again, and you’ll be by my side...”

“Don’t tell me what I want,” Pavel hisses. He isn’t a mouse.

Khan loves every bit of him, just the way it is. Khan thrusts inside abruptly and brutally, stabbing into his tiny Russian lover, and Pavel shrieks instantly. Pavel’s head tosses back, chin tilting up, body bursting to life, and Khan holds firm and keeps _going._ He lets the delicious squeeze swallow his cock whole, and he gets sucked deeper and deeper, until his balls are resting against Pavel’s ass and he can feel Pavel’s hard dick pressed into his stomach. He reaches down and grabs it, and Pavel grunts in pleasure.

There’s nowhere to go. Pavel’s fully impaled. He’s on lockdown, and his attempts to make this hurt _Khan_ die with the look of his own pleasure. Khan pulls out and drives home, trying to make Pavel understand with his body. They need each other, wholly. He pumps Pavel’s cock and kisses Pavel’s face. Pavel bucks almost violently into it, and that just spurs Khan on. Pavel’s heels dig into the small of Khan’s back. Pavel’s eyes are raking all over him, up and down, dilating, taking it in. Khan leans down to kiss him all over, growling, “You missed me. You missed me so much, I know you did, I shouldn’t have left you alone, I am sorry for that...”

Pavel releases a strangled cry, and it could be from Khan’s words, or it could be from Khan’s mammoth cock plundering his tight hole. It’s even tighter like this, angry and not properly prepared. Pavel tries to jerk his hands free, and he snarls, “I would punch you if I could.”

Khan takes it like dirty talk and fucks him _harder_. Khan scatters Pavel’s flushed cheeks in kisses, and he tilts Pavel’s chin up and claims Pavel’s mouth, and Pavel’s fierce and brutal. It’s the fieriest they’ve ever fucked, Pavel trying to match all of Khan’s strength and not all that far behind. What he lacks in strength, he makes up for in energy and conviction. He fights Khan’s tongue back, and he does bite Khan’s bottom lip, holding onto it. Khan wrenches away and presses his face into the side of Pavel’s. Pavel’s hard as a rock in his hands.

Khan comes first, with the roar of a lion and a final few thrusts, grinding into Pavel’s writhing body. Pavel cries out as he’s filled up, full and hot. Khan keeps going. He’s at Pavel’s prostate, he knows, and he rams into it even though he’s spent, battering that one spot and still making Pavel moan. He squeezes Pavel’s dick harder and licks his way to Pavel’s ear and purrs, “Get used to this again, baby, because you’re _mine._ You never stopped being mine. When I’m king, you’ll be my queen, and we’ll always be together...”

Pavel’s panting so hard it feels like his lungs might give out. He shakes his head frantically, eyes screwed up, and Khan licks him crudely and growls, “You’ll come for me, darling. You’ll come so hard you’ll see stars, and I’m going to make you come every night after this. When I find a planet to settle on, I’ll get a nice, big bed to throw you into, and I’ll climb on top of you and I’ll make you writhe, just like this. I’ll tie you up or stuff you full of toys, maybe get you a nice little chastity belt so none of my crew can touch you, and I’ll make you walk around with my plug under your skirt...”

Pavel’s mouth is open, but he can’t seem to find words. He’s nearly convulsing with each thrusts, eyes wide. The act of ‘just sex’ is gone: proven useless. Khan presses their foreheads together and fucks Pavel hard while he growls, “Come for me.”

Pavel never could disobey his master. He gasps so high-pitched that his voice snaps, his body curving and his thighs tensing, his cock spasming in Khan’s hand. He shoots all over their chests, still writhing and crying and gasping, eyes practically rolling back in his head. He looks like he’s possessed with pleasure. He never stood any chance. He collapses a minute later, spent and empty.

He’s crying again. He licks his lips and scrunches his eyes to try and stop it, looking away. Khan slips out of his body, and now that they’re both satiated and sweating and bare... it looks a bit different.

Khan feels... he doesn’t feel good like he was expecting to. He unties Pavel’s hands, and he does expect to get hit.

Pavel shoves him off. Khan let’s himself be pushed aside, and he climbs off Pavel’s body. Pavel sits up—his wrists are red from being bound so tightly. He fingers them lightly, and he looks at Khan.

Then he lunges into Khan’s arms, arms around his neck, face buried in the side of his, legs to either side of him and ass in his lap. As soothingly as he can manage, Khan pets Pavel’s back, and he whispers, “Pavel, I’m... I’m sorry...”

Pavel pulls back enough to hit him with a fist in the heart. Khan grunts. Pavel hits him again and sobs, “The worst part is... the worst part is I do _still love you._ ” It sounds like it’s causing him anguish to say.

He buries his face in Khan’s shoulder, and Khan holds him tight, insisting, “ _Everything will be okay._ ”


	12. ~

He’s on the bridge when he gets the message, not live, but recorded. It’s a list of demands from Starfleet. He needs to surrender and he needs to release his prisoner. Khan doesn’t bother answering. They don’t have the means to go after them—between the events of last year’s Vulcan tragedy and his own destruction of the Starfleet elite, the Federation’s resources are severely crippled. They don’t have the ability to so much as find him, let alone apprehend him. The message is generic and floating from outpost to outpost, and when Khan picks it up, he laughs.

Humans can be so amusing. He ignores it. He continues around the halls of his new ship, sending bodies out the airlocks. There’re only minimal repairs to make. Mostly, it’s just smooth sailing.

He doesn’t lock his quarters anymore. He’s locked the computer though, so Pavel can’t change their course or send any communications. When Khan walks through the doors, Pavel’s sitting on the couch in the living space, still upset.

His knees are up to his chest, arms wrapped around them. Khan sits down beside him, holding out the tray he brought from the synthesizer—tortellini and salad—one of Pavel’s favourite. Pavel looks at it, takes the tray, and puts it on the coffee table.

“What is your plan?” Pavel looks at him sideways, confused and a little hopeless. “You cannot run forewer.”

“I don’t intend to,” Khan says simply. “Starfleet doesn’t have the resources right now to stop me, and by the time they do, I’ll be setup with my crew to equally counter any attack they might launch.”

“Are you going to attack zhem first?”

Khan shakes his head. He might’ve, once upon a time. But he’s done corralling the entirety of Earth. “If they leave us be, we’ll leave them be. I only need my crew, and we’ll find another planet to start on. The universe is full of sad little planets that could use strong leaders.”

“Great.” Pavel laughs humourlessly. “You will conquer some ozher poor world...”

“I’ll bring peace to a place that has none,” Khan says. “I’ve learned from the past. You know not every planet is as bright and shiny as Earth. Some are filthy little rat-holes, full of death and decay, that could benefit from our experience and order. You will see.”

He puts his arm around Pavel’s shoulders, and Pavel buries his face in his knees, mumbling dejectedly, “I do not want to hurt anyone. Ewer.”

“Then we won’t hurt anyone. We’ll awaken my crew, we’ll set up on a dying planet that could use our help, and we’ll build our own world. Is that really so bad?”

Pavel looks up, and his face says he doesn’t believe it. The other option is...

It takes Khan a moment to say, “I could leave you on a Starfleet base to return to Earth, if that’s what you truly want.”

“You would do zhat?”

Khan nods. He doesn’t want to, but he doesn’t want Pavel against his will, either.

Khan wants everything the way it was, the way it was supposed to be. Pavel’s still got the bruises around his wrists from being tied—his own fault for resorting to hitting, despite his claim against violence. He thumbs them quietly while he thinks, and then he climbs off the couch, getting to his feet. He glances at the tray of food, but he doesn’t take it.

He says, “I will zhink about it.”

And he leaves the captain’s quarters.


	13. ~

The second Khan gets the communication, he opens a channel to his quarters. Pavel doesn’t answer. Khan grumbles and pushes away from the console, turning to storm down the halls. He’s tense with anticipation. The doors open when he gets there, and he walks into and around it, but it’s empty.

He turns to leave, but the doors open again and Pavel comes through. There were spare uniforms aboard, but none of them were quite his size. The plain undershirt he’s wearing dips too low down his chest, hangs off his frame and makes him look even smaller and cuter than usual. He walks right up to Khan, looking up.

He wraps his arms around Khan’s waist, nuzzling into Khan’s shoulder.

Khan pets him and asks, “Where were you?”

“I was looking at your crew.” Khan’s hand freezes. Pavel sighs and pushes away, reaching to intertwine their fingers, letting it fall beside them. He looks at the floor as he says, “It is one zhing to read about zhem as tyrants in textbooks, but it is anozher to really see zhem, sleeping as exiles.”

“We never asked for this gift,” Khan says. “They made us like this, and now our sheer existence is illegal.” He repeats it because Pavel needs to register that. Even were Khan to receive some sort of amnesty, he can’t go back to Earth. It’s just... not an option.

Khan came for a reason. He’s a little distracted by the thought of Pavel looking at his crew, essentially meeting his family. Pavel will surely be a great asset when it’s time to reawaken then. With the proper equipment, he’ll likely be as adept as Khan with the medical process. Khan tilts Pavel’s chin back up, so he can say this with their eyes connected. “I intercepted a transmission from Starfleet. The Enterprise was found and towed out of Klingon space by a Federation vessel. They’ve reached Earth, safe and sound.”

Pavel simply smiles. “I know. I interrupted zhe same communication from a terminal in zhe cargo bay.” Khan raises his eyebrow, impressed again. Pavel shrugs humbly. “I... am good wizh scanners.”

“And a great many other things.” Khan pecks his forehead, and Pavel laughs. It’s a good sound to hear. Khan doesn’t want to shatter it.

But he still has to ask, more seriously and quiet, “Have you made your decision?”

Sighing again, Pavel looks at his shoes. His fingers slip out of Khan’s grasp, and it’s difficult to let them go. But he does. He meant what he said. He wants Pavel with him of course, but he isn’t stupid. Everything he loves about Pavel wouldn’t be there by force. Butterflies can’t be gripped too firmly. Pavel says very slowly, “I... it is difficult for me.... on Earzh, I had already decided zhat while I lowed my crew—I lowe zhem, I still do... my place is not wizh zhem. I did not know who you were at zhe time, but...”

“You knew who I was,” Khan interrupts, frowning. “A name is just a name. You knew the man I was, the man I am.” Pavel nods.

He looks up and he says, “I do not want to conquer.”

“We won’t conquer. We’ll rescue. We’ll cultivate dying seedlings.”

“I zhought of zhat.” Pavel nods. “If I look at it... like zhat, I...”

“Could do so much good by my side.”

Pavel frowns at him, almost glaring a little. Khan has to bite the inside of his cheek to stop the smirk that wants to crawl on despite his uncertainty. He hates being uncertain. He nods to signal that he won’t interrupt anymore.

“I am trying to say zhat I want to stay wizh you, but you are making it wery difficult.”

Khan leans down to kiss him. Pavel pushes him back and says, “You hawe to promise you won’t hurt anyone. It will really hawe to be missions of peace.”

“Like your Starfleet?” Khan chuckles. Starfleet doesn’t help anything grow, though—it merely observes behind all its rules. Whether or not they see it, Khan will be more use to the universe than Starfleet ever was.

Pavel must see that, because he nods slowly. “I understand zhat you zhink you are doing good...” Khan raises an eyebrow at ‘think,’ and Pavel grins and keeps talking. “But zhat is why you will hawe me wizh you. For a second opinion. A more humane one.”

One human amongst seventy-three augments.

But Khan will be their king, and Pavel will be his prince. Khan nods slowly, even if it’s not a promise he always intends to keep. Pavel smiles, and there’s a glint in his eyes that says he’s going to hold Khan to that. Khan goes back in for that kiss, and Pavel’s hand darts up just in time to shield him, stuck right between their lips. Khan keeps his mouth against the palm of Pavel’s hand while Pavel mumbles behind it, “And if you are going to take me again, you had better make up for last time.”

“You asked me for last time.”

“You made me cry.”

 _You’re fragile._ Khan doesn’t say it; he just knows it. He doesn’t apologize, but he does kiss Pavel’s palm, reaching up to hold it softly. He takes it away, and he steps backwards, tugging Pavel along by the hand.

It’s good to have Pavel follow him again, full of a want to trust and a nervous smile. He takes Pavel right to the bed, and he holds Pavel’s hips gently, stroking them up and down. He takes the hem of Pavel’s oversized shirt, and he looks up at Pavel’s eyes, not so much for permission as comfort. Pavel nods; he’s comfortable. Khan slips the shirt over his head.

The dark rings around Pavel’s wrists have mostly healed. The rest of him is smooth and creamy and unblemished, and Khan takes a minute just to observe, to take in everything. In retrospect, it might’ve been easier to let Pavel know of his crew earlier. Having a family, so to speak, seems to make him more human. To Pavel, anyway. Pavel sympathizes, he does. Khan can see it in his face. When they slept last night, Pavel cuddled into him.

Pavel, in the safety of the darkness, curled up in Khan’s arms, just the way he’s doing now. He’s gently rolling Khan’s black shirt up his chest, and Khan lifts his arms to help, letting Pavel tug it off. Khan takes his turn next, hands on Pavel’s pants and underwear.

When they get to Ceti Alpha V, and they find a tailor to make Pavel clothes, Khan will have to make sure he gets a new set of panties. Maybe a few skirts. Some shorts would be nice, or maybe tight, leather pants, as was the fashion before Khan was frozen. Pavel looks scrumptious in anything, and Khan kisses his temple while he helps push down Khan’s pants. Soon they’re just pulling off socks, and Pavel crawls back onto the bed on his own. He kicks back the blankets, under the sheets. He looks at Khan, and he asks, “You will be gentle...?”

“Not always,” Khan purrs. He slips down to hands and knees overtop of Pavel, casting a dark shadow all over his pale skin. “But tonight, I will be gentle.”

Pavel smiles, and he reaches up like he wants to be held.

Khan doesn’t know if there’s anything that could substitute for lube on this ship. He’s had more important things to do. He wants to prepare Pavel right. He sucks on each of his fingers before carefully pressing them in, one at a time, with plenty of stretching in between. Pavel holds onto his shoulders, free again, mewling and trying to relax. There aren’t any tears, but that doesn’t mean he’s not emotional. He’s scared, Khan can tell, of the future. Of what he’s done by making this choice. Khan kisses him tenderly, taking away all the doubt. It’ll be alright. They’ll have each other. They’ll have all of Khan’s crew. They have a starship, and no one can stop them. Victory is in Khan’s mouth again, tangible and fragrant.

He thinks of all the times they did this back on Earth. This time, when he slides his cock slowly into Pavel’s warm, pliant body, it’s so much _sweeter_. Because Pavel gasps, “K... Khan....” Khan closes his eyes and makes it the rest of the way.

He takes Pavel slow and gentle, rocking in instead of slamming, slipping out again, hips rolling like liquid. Pavel’s legs are weak and spread around him, thighs quivering with lust, arms tight around his neck. Pavel’s back to what he was, submissive and small and trembling, the perfect fit in Khan’s arms. But know Khan knows that there’s _fire_ there too. He moans every time Khan pulls out and gasps every time Khan pushes in, and his skin shines with sweat in no time. His curls cling to his forehead, his long lashes down, his pink cheeks burning. He keeps Khan against him, and he lets Khan kiss him over and over.

He mumbles every time his mouth is free, “I lowe you,” but it’s always in tortured little whispers. Khan rewards him each time with another kiss, and Pavel gets stronger and stronger with it, until he’s nearly in tears again and he’s clinging to Khan so tightly that he’s trembling, fingers on Khan’s neck and in Khan’s hair. His voice is hoarse with the effort of saying, “I lowe you so much...”

There was never any danger of him leaving. Khan knows that. Khan kisses the side of Pavel’s face and purrs, “I love you too, Pavel.”

Pavel comes undone, whining and spilling first, even though Khan hasn’t touched his cock yet, because Khan wanted this to last. He slows his hips as Pavel’s walls convulse around him, hot and tight. But Pavel shakes his head and whimpers, “Keep going, please keep going...”

“You’re tired...”

“Make me come twice,” Pavel moans. He arches up, rubbing himself against Khan as much as possible, wriggling on Khan’s dick, so tempting. “I lowe how sore and tired you make me, keep going...”

Khan does keep going. He purposely hits the right spot every time, and he takes Pavel’s cock, gently stroking it. He stops kissing Pavel and closes his eyes, because he wants to make Pavel come again before he finishes, and looking or touching Pavel would be too tempting. Pavel keeps making those erotic, breathy sounds, riding it out. It takes a bit to get him hard again, but he’s young, and he manages.

And Khan makes love to him hard and sweet, until he’s spilling a second time, several minutes later. Khan finally looks, and the sight of Pavel’s aroused face alone is enough to do it. The orgasm ripples all down his body, so much better with, “I lowe you,” on Pavel’s lips. Khan grits his teeth as he empties himself inside his boyfriend.

He couldn’t imagine ever wanting anyone else.

He spills everything he has, and then he pulls out and slips off. He lies down in the mattress, and Pavel reaches for the blankets, pulling them up and around. He snuggles up to Khan, and Khan pulls him in, hugging him tight.

“Computer, lights.”


	14. ()

Ceti Alpha V is an ugly little planet with only two thousand colonists, half of which are humans and the other half are... riff raff.

They’re all ‘riff raff,’ really. The climate of the planet is habitable but inhospitable, full of deadly creatures and a stifling, muggy atmosphere. They barely have any technology, any supplies, but Khan has no trouble obtaining what he needs. He doesn’t even have to use force or coercion. He walks in with a uniform from Marcus’ dead crew and falsified documents, and he sets everything up in the cargo bay and has Pavel help revive his crew one by one. It’s a stringent process—a hairsbreadth of miscalculation could prove fatal. But Pavel has steady hands and a steadfast conscience, and he wouldn’t let a person die on his hands. There are enough quarters on the ship for each of them, and he’s landed it only a little ways from the colony. But he gathers them all first to give instructions.

It doesn’t take long to explain what’s happened. They’re all fast learners, and he gives them access to the consoles, telling them to fill their heads with every shred of information they can. They all went into the tubes knowing the future would be different. None are particularly frightened, and that’s unsettling to Pavel, who stands beside or behind him for most of it.

“They aren’t like you,” is all Khan says.

Pavel breathes, “I know.”

There are sideways glances, of course. Little looks at Pavel. Notes of confusion. But Khan is their leader, and he doesn’t feel the need to explain himself. They’re all entitled to relationships, so long as that doesn’t interfere with their mission.

The natives of Ceti Alpha are mostly hunters, old fashioned and ill-organized. There is no real structure, no real government in place. It’s a pathetically low count to corral, but it’s a first step. Khan takes Pavel on a walk through the colony’s makeshift market, where barrels of skinned animals line the sides of the dirt path, and wood fires have clouded the air. It smells disgusting, and a fistfight erupts only a few meters from them—par for the course. They’re riotous and violent, criminals escaped from other planets, and when Pavel comes back to the ship, he can’t understand how humans have become that.

Khan explains that humans have always been that, in some capacity. It’s easy for those on Earth to remain sophisticated—they have all the resources and tools to maintain their structure. If the Federation fell, they’d fall just as much into chaos. Humans need structure. Khan can offer that. He can offer intelligence and safety. He can offer growth.

Pavel says they have the Federation now. Khan thinks he can do better. Pavel can see he won’t be dissuaded, and Pavel decides there is enough room for two healing forces in the universe.

Khan would hardly consider himself a second Federation, but he doesn’t want to rock the proverbial boat once he has Pavel agreeing. Khan spreads his crew throughout the colony with instructions, and they erect a central structure, rudimentary for now. Khan stations Joaquin there, with Ling and Harron given outposts along the border. Architecture is one of the first things they’ll correct. Khan elects to stay on the ship; the scanners are constantly searching for signs of Starfleet, but so far, they’ve yet to be found. Pavel stays with him, and through the days their quarters become... less sparse.

One day Khan comes back—comes _home_ —from a street inspection. They’re setting standards for food; his crew is far better at catching large prey, faster and more efficient. His crew is teaching the locals how to farm. The synthesizers on the ship should last for a while, but they can’t feed an entire colony forever.

They’ve given Pavel a meal, apparently, because when Khan steps through the doors of his quarters, he can smell the old Italian aroma in the air. Pasta sauce of some sort. He’d walk to the other room—it must be on a table in the bedroom—but Pavel heads him off. Khan stops in his tracks, and he immediately barks, “Computer, lock the doors. Play message zero four on communication.” The computer beeps in acknowledgement; Khan won’t have any interruptions.

Pavel looks grateful for the privacy. He’s gotten along with the crew well, even made a few friends (although it may have something to do with others wanting to get in Khan’s good graces) but it’s unlikely he’d want any of them to see him like this.

He’s wearing a plain, white apron, and nothing else. He says simply, “Suzette made it for me. Do you like it?”

Khan’s smirking like a monster. Pavel looks adorable and _delicious_. The lace top cuts off just below his rosy, pink nipples, and the ruffled bottom just barely covers his crotch. There are thick ribbons on either side, wrapped around the back in a large bow. He looks like a pinup girl from the fifties, back in Khan’s time. He’s the perfect little housewife too. Yes, he helps with diagnostics, and he’s wonderful with engineering, but mostly his place is _here_ , doing all the domestic things Khan wouldn’t even think to ask for. Pavel’s a little bit of everything.

He strolls forward to Khan, hips deliberately swinging too much, and he brushes the jacket off Khan’s shoulders. Khan moves his arms to help. Pavel folds it and goes to place it on the couch, bare ass sticking out and framed by the bow. It’s like a present, just for Khan. Pavel saunters back and sinks to his knees, looking up and asking softly, “Did you hawe a hard day at work, honey?”

Khan concurs, “Hard.” Pavel’s face is right next to his crotch, already a little tented.

Pavel grins and purrs, “My big, strong man, working hard to improwe zhe uniwerse...” He inhales deeply and rubs the tip of his nose into Khan’s crotch, kissing it once. He looks up through his lashes.

There are several members of Khan’s crew that are clearly disappointed not to have a shot at him or who think they still do and keep trying. Looking down at this submissive little morsel, Khan can’t fathom why any of them would think they’ve got a chance. His crewmembers are all obedient, yes, but they’re nothing like little Pavel—well behaved and pretty and delicate. He’s a pet, he’s a toy, he’s a colleague, and a boyfriend. And apparently an old fashioned housewife.

He flattens his tongue into the dark material and slowly drags it up Khan’s fly, and at the top, he nuzzles in again, nearly moaning, “You will take me, yes? I made you dinner. I hawe had nozhing to do all day but zhink of you, coming home to rawage me...”

Khan purrs benevolently, playing the game, “If you do one last thing for me, darling.”

“Anyzhing,” Pavel breathes. His lashes flutter at the mere thought.

Khan thrusts his hips forward, right into Pavel’s face, and Pavel grabs his thighs to hold him, mewling and following the movement. “Take care of that.”

Pavel nods and catches the zipper in his teeth, dragging it down. Then he carefully reaches his hands inside Khan’s pants, and he pulls out Khan’s cock, heavy and hard, beaded at the tip in anticipation. Pavel licks it off and purrs, “Mm, my fawourite meal... can I suck on it...?”

Khan brushes through Pavel’s curls. “Swallow it down, baby.”

Pavel grins and opens wide. He presses himself forward, slowly taking it into his mouth, and Khan has to force himself to stay still and not slam his way in. Pavel takes it all the way, every last bit, through the hot walls of his mouth and the tight walls of his throat, flattening his tongue and stretching his jaw. Pavel waits until he’s all the way in, and then he buries his nose in the dark hair at the base.

He takes a minute to sigh happily, the vibrations making Khan shiver in pleasure. Pavel sucks lightly, and then he begins to pull off, humming around it and never letting the head go. He slides back down, sucking. His tongue is busy along the underside, his lips moist and full, his throat closing in around it. Perfect. Khan lets Pavel eagerly bob up and down on it for a few minutes, until the building pleasure grows to be too much. Then he pushes Pavel lightly off, and Pavel sits back for more instructions.

Khan holds out a hand, which Pavel takes. Khan pulls him to his feet. The smell of dinner is thick in the air, but it’ll have to wait and grow cold. He’s fucked Pavel against nearly every surface in this ship, but moments like this... these require a bed. One arm at Pavel’s back and one darting for the back of Pavel’s knees, Khan scoops Pavel up into his arms. Pavel gasps and quickly throws his arms around Khan’s neck, blushing.

Khan kisses his forehead and carries him through the doorway.


End file.
